Cry Me A River
by LikeRain
Summary: V has left behind more than he'd anticipated and is now faced with the consequences. How can he repair a damaged England while his main priority is Evey? Disclaimer & warnings: Don't own, don't sue. Rated for sexual situations & violence.
1. Ave Atque Vale

Evey stood on the balcony above the shadow gallery, watching the fireworks in the distance with as much joy as she imagined V would have felt. Salty tears pricked in the corners of her eyes as a sharp prang of loss jarred through her body, but she wouldn't let herself cry. She had cried enough that night; now was the time to concentrate, no matter how many tear filled nights she may have in front of her.

Had he really just died? She had yet to comprehend what was happening. After everything he had done for her…and she'd never thanked him for it. What really pulled at her heart was her reluctance to say those three words back to him, back on the blood smeared tube platform. Even though the mask blanked all visible emotion, it didn't take an expert to know that underneath he must have been wearing a hopeful expression. How could she not return the sentiment? She loved him. More than she had ever loved any other man in her life, and all she'd been able to say was 'I don't want you to die.' It was pathetic and it made her sick.

Her hands clutched at the balcony, the same one she'd stood on all those months ago, absorbing the freshness of the rain through her grubby skin after all that time imprisoned. Her eyes stung.

'I love you' she whispered, as a fiery V scored high into the night air. Whistles and roars of approval erupted from the crowd, echoing the ecstasy of the moment. But Evey stood there on that balcony, feeling tiny and alone in the world despite Finch hovering uncertainly at her side. Even when she'd been out in the real world, she had known V was there in the shadow gallery waiting for her to come back. But now the roles were reversed, and now she would be taking his place. Waiting for a man who could never come back to her.

The fireworks dimmed and a last, earth shattering cheer sounded. V was a God to those people. Did they sense he was gone? The thought of continuing where he left off terrified and excited Evey at the same time.

She finally turned to Finch, who was standing beside her with a concerned look on his face.

'So…' he began awkwardly. The Hammond girl shone with a confidence and spirit he hadn't seen in a person since before the reclamation, and even though she was a breath of fresh air, he felt inferior next to her.

'I think you should go now,' she said, turning back to the smouldering ruins of parliament.

'But…'

'I'll contact you tomorrow. Eric, is it?' he nodded. 'I just need some time alone for now. If you don't mind, it's just…I…I don't know what to do…'

'I understand. Here's my office number,' he removed a small laminated card from his wallet and placed it on the balcony next to her hand, 'and if that's unavailable, which I very much expect, my home number…' he left another card.

'Goodbye Mr Finch.'

'Goodbye.' He turned to leave, surprised that she trusted him enough to let him go on his own with V's home so nearby.

'Oh, and Mr Finch?'

'Yes?'

'If you go anywhere near the shadow gallery...'

'Yes, yes. Of course. You can trust me, Miss Hammond. I suppose that trust is something we must share now that the revolution has started.'

She smiled slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. 'The revolution has definitely begun, although I'm sorry to say I won't be celebrating it like everyone else.'

He studied her carefully for a moment. Why would she not be celebrating the beginning of a new era? She had just as much right as anyone else. For God's sake, the only negative thing was the death of V, and he'd held her captive for a year. She should feel well rid of him. Then the mental image of V's bullet ridden body adorned with scarlet carsons flooded into his head. The man certainly deserved a dramatic funeral pyre, but he assumed it wasn't natural to take that much care for someone meaningless to you. He wondered absentmindedly if the terrorist and the damsel in distress had formed some sort of bond. It was possible by all means, but really? He wouldn't have thought so.

As Finch left the balcony via the steep concrete steps to the lift, he cast a sly look back. The Hammond girl had an absoloutely heart rending look on her face. He couldn't describe all the emotions that flitted across those delicate features in his two second glance. But he was certain of one thing; V was more to her than he'd assumed.

He sighed and carried on, not wanting to pry.

Evey produced a scarlet Carson she'd taken from V's body, one last reminder she couldn't resist taking at the time. She looked up at the sky. Although it was night, no clouds scarred the perfect dark blue above. A night to remember for certain.

The rose was beautiful in the half light. Its petals curled inwards slowly, seeming so soft she wished she could disappear in them, to forget about all this and just feel at peace. For a split second she looked down at the drop below her and then pulled back quickly. No, he wouldn't want that. She had felt like taking her own life so many times in the past…it seemed ironic that she wouldn't even consider it in her worst moment.

Instead Evey ground the rose stalk into her palms, feeling the thorns scrape against her skin, drawing pinpricks of blood. It wasn't enough.

She punched the edge of the balcony, the pain erupting from her knuckles leading her on. She did it again and again, carrying on until her knuckles were scratched and seeping blood, until the force travelled so far up her arm that it reached her very core. She sank down the wall, a battered hand clutching her face. The ground was hard and there was some cracked glass underneath her leg, but it didn't hurt much. The rose was clutched in her throbbing right fist, the petals disarrayed and the stem broken. Evey stared at it for minutes on end, realising that she'd destroyed the last part of V in her possession. But he was dead, he wasn't coming back. Neither was the rose.

She tossed it backwards, over the wall. It fluttered down on to the pavement below and would later be picked up by a jubilant passer-by on their way home from the celebrations. But they wouldn't keep such a thing; it would most likely end up in a bin somewhere. It's strange how something so perfect can go to waste.

Evey made her way back to the shadow gallery, feeling torn and broken like her rose. How could she possibly continue V's legacy?

'I hope you trust me, V,' she muttered, more to herself than her surroundings. 'I'll need a whole lot of motivation.' And with that she entered the empty shadow gallery, feeling more alone than she'd ever felt before.


	2. Visitors

The gallery was dimly lit. Shadows of numerous statues, busts, portraits and vases were cast over the curved walls, creating an eerie sense of monstrous shapes just behind the scenes. Everything in this place seemed to have a life of its own, and if Evey had been here on her own at any other time she knew she would have been petrified. But today was different. It was all hers now.

She moved through the main area. It was silent, so silent that she could hear only her own ragged breathing and the vague humming of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The TV was frozen on a still image of chancellor Sutler, presumably from his earlier broadcast to the people. Was he still alive? She doubted it. V had his ways of getting revenge, as she was well aware of.

The miniature disco ball attached to the ceiling was still spinning. Although the shadow gallery wasn't as dark as it had been earlier, small spots of light still travelled slowly around the room, slipping over the surfaces of century old paintings and valuables. Just a few hours earlier she had been here dancing, held in V's arms as they gently moved to the music from the jukebox.

The memory of that intimate moment forced her stomach to twist unpleasantly. He was so real, so close. Someone like that couldn't just cease to exist…

She recalled attempting to remove the smiling Guy Fawkes mask. In the past she had found the porcelain smile patronising, especially when they were in involved in a heated argument. Well, it was always an argument on Evey's side. Looking back, he had never joined in except after her false imprisonment, because he knew her better than she knew herself, knew that she'd come back half an hour later and apologise grievously.

Her lips pursed slightly to stop herself from screaming or crying out. She just stood there under the soft light of the disco ball and tried to recreate the scene…

What would he have done had she removed the mask? Draw a knife against her maybe, turn away in shame, or would he have a completely different reaction? She pictured the mask snapping away from its leather bindings to reveal a handsome face…no…she had already guessed from the disastrous state of his hands that his face wouldn't be much better. Appearances didn't matter at all, not with V. But if she'd taken away his last disguise, his last intact inch, she imagined he'd always have a part of his mind that was disgusted at her. And that was the last thing in the world she wished for.

The compelling temptation to remove the mask even after his death had proved difficult to overcome but Evey had been strong and resisted, and for that she could at least hold some pride in herself.

Without realising, she'd started to cry. But not like before, not with racking sobs and violence; it wasn't sadness she felt, only regret. Regret for not telling him how she felt…if only she'd known what he was feeling beforehand…she'd guessed by all means that he may have feelings towards her. But love? That was something she hadn't been blessed with since the death of her family. It was totally and unnervingly unexpected. Any emotion directed towards her in the last ten years had been either hostility or uncontrolled lust, neither of which she appreciated.

Evey dragged her bruised hand across her face, wiping away the distress. She opened her eyes wider and shook her body as if to wake herself up, tiredness hitting her like a tidal wave. It was time to forget all of this, at least for a few hours. She felt irritated at herself for having the nerve to desire sleep in such bad circumstances, but she'd spilt enough tears.

Exhausted, she turned and quickly made her way towards her bedroom. The passageway lights were still on, glowing slightly but still dimmed down low. He'd always recreated the time of day in the gallery, possibly to make her feel more like she was above ground. Little thoughtful gestures like that always made her grin, and even after his death she found a smile creeping on to her lips.

She opened the door to her room and flopped down on the neat bedcovers. He'd been in here since she'd left…there was a chair beside the bed and the quilt was tucked in with such precision, it was almost unnatural for a man to take that much care in housekeeping.

The silence was even more pronounced here, especially with the heavy beat of her heart thudding in her chest. She didn't want to sleep in this bed. There was a musky smell in the room, the scent of some kind of expensive masculine cologne. It was faint, but she'd always associated it with V when he'd been around. Evey didn't know whether or not he always smelled that good, but it seemed quite perverted in a way to be thinking of him like that.

She slowly rose off the bed and walked hesitantly down the corridor towards the other rooms. She'd explored most of them because there hadn't been anything else to do in the months she was held captive, but one had always remained closed to her. Not because it was locked, but she had seen V disappear in there at night on the odd occasion when he actually slept. Back then she'd been aware that it was his private space, and respected his unspoken wishes that she shouldn't enter the room. But who could stop her now?

Her hand reached for the polished brass door handle, but seized in that position for a second. Her fingers were shaking terribly and her breathing seemed to have rapidly increased in an instant. This was unknown territory, a place that might as well have a 'DO NOT ENTER' sign nailed into the wood of the door. Ignoring her inhibitions, she yanked the handle down and shoved the door open.

The first thing that really hit her was the obvious effort poured into the interior of the room. The walls were painted a deep lustrous red, the kind of colour that emanates elegance and maturity. Very V.

Evey walked around the room in wonder, the familiar scent from her bedroom lingering in the air. It was large and circular, the type of shape she didn't expect in the shadow gallery, but it had never ceased to produce new surprises. There was a king size bed in the centre of the space against the furthest wall, accompanied by a small but practical mahogany table. An old fashioned lamp shone here, issuing more light than she would have expected; it managed to light up the whole room.

A giant oak wardrobe stood behind the door. Without hesitation Evey prised open the thick doors, the wood creaking with age and seeming to have a protesting voice of its own. Inside were rows upon rows of black clothes, all more or less the same design but some noticeably reinforced with a hard material. Bullet-proof, she guessed. There were some drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe but her curiosity stopped there. She sensed that inside were personal possessions, or if not, she'd find out what kind of boxers terrorists wore…

She pictured the look on V's face if he knew she was wondering what his underwear looked like, and Evey let out a tiny laugh. He'd probably quote something indignantly and then expel her permanently from his domain.

With a visible smile still on her face, she pulled out a silk black shirt from the clothes. She'd never seen him wear it but it oozed his taste and sophistication. Evey held it to her gently for a minute or so, breathing in the scent and fighting back the heavy feeling somewhere in the pit of her stomach that threatened to overwhelm her. Eventually she shrugged off the cream cardigan she was wearing and pulled V's shirt over her head with care, loving the soft feel of the material against her skin. She dumped her cardigan unceremoniously on to the polished hardwood floor and went over to his bed, running her hands over the dark sheets. Yes, this was where she would be sleeping tonight.

She removed the rest of her clothes except for the shirt, and gradually climbed into the bed. The thought that he'd spent his nights here made her feel safe and protected, just as she had in his company. The bed seemed to swamp her small frame and the feeling of being engulfed started to grow on her, wrapped up in that tight cocoon. She laid her head on the pillow and reached out to turn off the bedside light. Strangely she didn't feel so devastated for now, maybe because she'd still found a way to be around V. And she liked it.

The light disappeared from the room with a snap and so did Evey's consciousness. Tonight she would sleep deeply and dreamlessly.

In the dead of night, a door opened little by little. Evey was asleep and unaware of the clumsy footsteps crossing the main living space of the gallery and then fading again, followed by the soft sound of the door closing shut once more. She would have leapt out of bed and ran to see what the disturbance was had she been awake, but sleep had captured her in its spell.


	3. Bittersweet

**Sorry, but this will be the last update for a while because I'm going on holiday soon. I know it's a small chapter but it's only meant to link events together…I promise there will be nice surprises when I get back! **

**Please leave reviews, I love reading them and thank you to everyone who has done so far.**

Evey woke up with a start, confused for a second about where she was. Soft black sheets were tangled messily around her legs and she was hanging half out of the king sized bed, her feet barely grazing the floorboards. She looked around the room with a dazed expression etched into her face, recovering from the first night of good sleep she'd experienced since leaving the gallery. So why did she have a throbbing headache?

Then the events of the previous night came rushing back to her. V's death, the blood, slamming her fist into the wall, stumbling into the gallery, going through his clothes, tears, sleep...

Like waking up with the world's worst hangover multiplied tenfold.

The room was still completely dark, but seemingly by magic the lights in the corridor outside the room had changed from a golden glow to shining brightly outside the door, casting a slit of fake sunshine through the cracks in the hinges. She had to concentrate for a second to recollect why she couldn't move her right hand to reach out and switch on the lamp, then sighed when she remembered and awkwardly leaned across the bed to do it with her left.

The room was suddenly lit up and she could see again. She crawled out of the bed and walked to the door with small steps, her head feeling light but heavy at the same time, and her stomach growling relentlessly for food. With a last, heartfelt look back at the crumpled sheets and homey interior of V's room, Evey closed the door delicately and walked down the corridor towards the main area.

Here, too, the lights were brighter to recreate the morning outside. Passing the grandfather clock in the corner, she saw it was ten o'clock. It was amazing how V had somehow managed to bring the outdoors inside; in fact she couldn't recall the light responding to the time of day in the past. He must have installed this system just for her…in preparation for what was to come. Surprisingly, Evey detected a poisonous stab of rage go through her. She knew very well now that he'd been planning his own death, and he hadn't mentioned any of it to her. Weren't they in it together? He had given her the choice to pull the lever, so they must have been. It was the least he owed her after putting her in that fake prison and beating her to an inch of her life, spraying her with powerful jets of water to bruise her tender skin and screaming insults through her door at night.

But that memory was enough to make her shudder with an impulsive coldness and forget any anger she might hold towards him. It had a knack of doing that, better to shove it out of her head completely. But she couldn't forget what it had done for her in the end. After all, if she'd been aware of the entirety of his plan…she would have gone to any lengths to stop him, and he was enough of a mind reader to know that.

It was easier to pass through the gallery without looking at things in too much detail, because everything emanated V. From the paintings to the battered suit of armour in the corner and the collection of fencing swords beside it. She remembered the first time she'd walked in on him 'fighting' with that knight, not a very equal opponent by all means. But it had revealed a whole new, funny side to the masked vigilante and in a way had made her realise he was still human. Human enough to feel embarrassment anyway.

However, a flash of white caught her attention as she began to look away from the knight. Something was stuck in the visor, obvious enough if you happened to look at it but not so much that it jumped out at you as soon as you entered the room. Instantly, all her nerves were tingling and she could tell the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. Goosebumps covered her arms.

Evey almost ran across the room and peered at the object disbelievingly. A small piece of paper had been positioned in the visor, poking out at an angle. It seemed like high quality parchment, and under closer inspection she saw that it was actually a tiny envelope.

She plucked it from the metal and tore at the paper, desperate to find out what as inside. There was an unexpectedly long message scrawled carefully in ink, the handwriting rather elegant and neat enough to seem as if it had been printed out.

'_Dearest Evey,_

_Please forgive me for what I have done to you. I never predicted that somebody else would exist around me in my lifetime, and I understand that the consequences of my actions have the potential to upset you more than I would ever want. But I had a plan, and after ten years of carrying it out I could not leave it to waste away._

_Never has someone showed me kindness the way you have, and in your absence I always found myself wishing for your return. I do not know if you will ever come across this message, but if you do it is here for your eyes only. Thank you Eve, for everything. For your company, your tolerance, and most importantly for showing me that I can still love something other than my vendetta. The world already seems like a kinder place, but unfortunately my determination sees me through to make it this way for everyone else. Otherwise, I assure you that I would not desert you so callously._

_There is only one more thing left to say. I have something for you, if you will. Go to the ruins of parliament and wait, the evening after November 5__th_

_Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici. _

_V.'_

The paper fluttered to the floor, slipping though her fingers. It was hard to tell what the look on her face expressed. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open a little in shock. She bent down and picked up V's message. It was impossible to tell whether it had been written recently or if it was his way of saying goodbye from the grave, but she knew one thing at least: she would be going to parliament that night regardless.


	4. Vaudeville

**I felt guilty for leaving everyone with such a cliff hanger before I disappear for a week, so here's the next instalment. The rating goes up in this chapter, so if you're not particularly OK with violence and harsh language then I advise you to give it a miss**.

**Again, please leave reviews**!

Nothing was there, not even half a desecrated tower. V's explosions had done more than enough to destroy the symbol of Norsefire's control; the houses of parliament were strewn over a huge area, some parts of Big Ben had even fallen into the River Themes to the delight of the crowd who had gathered there early in the morning.

However, now it was utterly silent. Evey was standing where the tall security fences had been before, but had now been reduced to spindly pieces of green iron curling up to the sky. The blast had destroyed everything, much to her pleasure. He'd reached his dream and she'd managed to be a part of it. Now the people were in control for the first time in years.

She walked around the perimeter, looking for any signs of life. He had told her to wait here for something and she had no idea what it was. Then again, she wasn't getting her hopes up about the impossible. She had _seen_ him die, felt him go limp in her arms. Cringed as warm blood spread out in a puddle around them, soaking through her clothes. That familiar tingly feeling in the corners of her eyes came back but she blinked away the tears as she was making her way around the outside of the ruins. She felt as if she would be letting him down in a way, if she didn't control her emotions. He would want her to be happy, after all.

She ventured into the ruins, stepping over glass and scattered bricks, hoping to God that all of the explosions had in fact gone off and she wasn't walking through a potential landmine site.

…was it really clever to wander off when there was meant to be something for her? Whatever it was, surely it would come to her. He wouldn't risk the message not being delivered. She would wait here for as long as it took.

It was actually quite amazing to wander through a place like this, seeing as she had never been around the parliament area herself, and now it had crumbled around her. She occasionally found something interesting, like a few burnt pages of a book and even a tiny golden cross that was poking out from under what looked like an obliterated statue.

Evey looked around quickly before slipping the little cross in her pocket. It was too beautiful to just leave there in the rubble.

'Hey! I saw that!'

She turned around sharply, instantly on alert. Her stance had changed and her eyes narrowed, looking at the well built man who was traipsing towards her, stepping over rocks and blown apart walls. She didn't move or run away because she was on alert for V's surprise, but admittedly this didn't look very promising at all…

He got to her at last. Taking in the confused look on her face, her shaved head and hands shoved deeply inside her coat, he sneered. He had this one cornered and she had no idea what to do. She was a good foot smaller than him and had to look up into his face. He noticed how hardened her gaze was…well, all the little rats who'd steal anything looked like they could melt ice with one glance.

'Give me that,' he insisted, motioning towards her pocket. Not wanting to cause any trouble, Evey complied and handed the cross over reluctantly. He took it and then turned his concentration back to her.

'What you doing here?' He demanded, right hand resting on the blade of a flick knife up his sleeve.

'Looking. You?' She replied calmly, ignoring all the alarm bells ringing inside her head. This wasn't what she'd expected.

'Same, but I've got the fucking right, haven't I?'

Evey stared at him, suddenly covered in cold dread.

'What do you mean?'

'This is our area now. Don't care if the guy blew it up, it's still the government's property. So piss off back home, little girl.'

She knew she was dealing with a Norsefire supporter here, or even a party member if she was unlucky.

'Norsefire's dead and gone,' she looked intently into his face, his black eyes boring into her own. 'V's destroyed it, and everything to do with it. And don't call me a little girl, I've been through a whole lot more than you ever will.'

With that she turned on her heel and slowly walked away, wanting to seem uncaring but at the same time desperate to escape.

Out of the blue, strong arms were wrapped around her tiny frame, crushing the air right out of her lungs. She wrenched her head to the side to scream, but the sound choked off in her throat as a thin line of coldness was pressed against her neck. Jesus Christ, he had a knife. Please, not now.

'Don't you speak to me like that, bitch. You don't know who I am, what I've done. What I'm capable of doing.' The voice came in a hurried whisper against her ear, his breath hot against the side of her face. It spiralled up into the cold air around them and floated away.

'This country is going down without the government. I've seen what it was like before…the riots, all that shit. I bet you were just tiny then, weren't you? A little baby, so impressionable. Pity you'd rather listen to some coward with a mask than your own country. You make me sick, you hear?'

'He wasn't a coward,' she gasped, the grip around her neck tightening painfully.

'Yeah, well how would you know. Can't even show his face, he's not a real man. I'll show you what a real man is.'

'Get off me!' She sobbed, unaware of when she'd even started to cry. This was all like a repeat of the night when V had rescued her, except that she was alone now. And no one was around. She couldn't be seen where she was…anything could happen.

The man laughed and let go of her neck, spinning her around to face him. He took in her shaved head once more, and she watched as the understanding dawned on his face.

'Ha! You're one of them concentration camp kids. How'd you get out? Must've broke. Can't stand the pressure, eh? Well I've done some work there myself. Torturing and the like. Nothing serious, could never turn down the opportunity to beat the shit out of some little whore though.'

Evey's eyes opened wide in horror. So he was a fingerman.

'I didn't break,' she said softly, head bowed down to the floor. Trying to disguise the look on her face as she attempted to think of a way to get out of this situation.

'You wouldn't be here if you didn't break, kid. I bet someone's dead because of you! How does that make you feel, eh?'

Evey screwed up her face in concentration, then moved slightly closer to him. She rose her head, peering straight into his eyes. His face was ugly and his eyes spoke of death and cruelty. They were like hollow tunnels leading into his mind.

'Like this.'

She brought her shoe down hard on his foot and he grabbed it with both hands.

'I'm gonna kill you! Little bitch!'

Evey shoved her hands down forcefully on his shoulders before he had the chance to straighten up, buried her head into his chest and brought her knee up, hard, between his legs. She actually felt something crack, whether it was her knee cap or something else she would rather find out later.

'Whore,' he groaned, sinking to the floor. 'You're all the same...this country is going to the dogs…'

Evey stood over him, wondering what to do and marvelling at her own strength. He was curled up on the floor, panting and choking back tears as he clamped his hands over his groin.

'What's happened here?

She turned around quickly, her nerves on edge once more. But to her complete surprise, it was Finch who was weaving his way towards her, gun out and a panicked look on his face.

'He tried to attack me…he's a fingerman…I didn't know what to do…'

It's alright, he muttered as he reached her. His breathing was strained from running across the ruins of parliament.

'How did you know I was here?' She asked, puzzled.

'I got a letter,' he whispered, pulling a familiar parchment out of his pocket. 'From him.'

She took it from his grip, holding it with trembling fingers. It said a lot less than her letter did.

_'Mr Finch,_

_Over the past few months, I have been aware of you growing closer with your investigation. I must say, I admire and applaud you. Alas, however surprised I am at your resolve I know that you are acting under orders and not from the heart. I hope this changes after November 5__th_

_I have something to request from you. Evey Hammond, the suspect you have tried so hard to catch for a year, needs to be a part of this revolution. Go to parliament the night after it is destroyed and she will be there. Take care of her._

_V.'_

'So that's all he has to say…' She whispered. It wasn't even written after the explosion, because he obviously didn't know they had already met from the letter.

'I'm sorry, Finch said, his hand on her shoulder.

'No, get off me…all this says is something I already know. He wanted you to get in contact with me and that's all. I can't believe this!'

She let out a frustrated sigh and pulled away, heading away from the fingerman crying on the ground. She had thought he was alive, in the back of her mind. She had been so_ sure. _And now all her hopes had disappeared, just like him.

She was vaguely aware of Finch running after her, protesting and trying to co operate. But she wouldn't listen. She just wanted to get back to the shadow gallery and forget, forget about everything and everyone for just one night.

'Hey! Come back!' The fingerman yelled. 'You can't just leave me here,' he cried, burying his face into one of his hands while the other clutched his aching groin in agony.

Suddenly a tall shadow appeared over him. He looked up, his vision blurred from tears and pain.

'Thank God…please…help me up…'

Night had almost fallen now and the light was beginning to fade completely. Black shadows stretched over the rubble and the only source of light had almost disappeared. The figure standing so quietly in front of him seemed to be surveying his condition and drinking in his distress. He couldn't see the face…just a pair of broad shoulders and arms resting on a belt around the man's waist.

'Mate, come on,' he growled, 'I'm hurt here. Do something…'

The figure bent down to his level. 'That was no way to treat a lady.'

'Huh? What the fuck are you on about, man? She attacked me!'

The fingerman sat up and a flash of city light appeared across the face of his visitor. But there was no face. Just whiteness and a grinning smile.

'Bloody hell!' he screamed, and lashed out with his fist. It cracked against the porcelain and knocked the man's head back slightly, but the mask kept smiling. However, his knuckles didn't fare quite so well. He curled up once more and tucked his head into his body, cradling his bruised fist.

The figure stood up and peered down at the crumpled heap in front of him. Cocked his head to the side for a moment as he thought about something.

A tremendous weight slammed into the fingerman's back, making him straighten out and wail. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders mercilessly and pulled him up, his feet kicking frantically off the ground. His faced was twisted in pain but he could find no way to retaliate…his arms were locked by his side and he was lifted at least a foot off the floor, staring into the eerie face of Guy Fawkes.

Suddenly he was back on the ground again, so quickly he couldn't even remember when he had fallen. That shadow was on him again, but not like before. It was almost _sitting _on him, hovering over his body with leather hands squeezing his neck.

'No…help…' he gasped, as he felt the fingertips dig into his skin and cut off his air supply.

'Aah, not quite yet,' said the voice again. It was curiously deep, and calm enough to suggest they were involved in a polite conversation. 'Why rush when we have all night?'

The pressure disappeared from around his neck and he choked and coughed, retching on to the ground beside him.

"And the patrons and the actors too are uncertain if the show is through,''

He heard a knife being unsheathed, the sound ripping into the air like a gunshot.

"And with sidelong looks await their cue…''

The point of a blade poked through the fabric of his shirt and he stared wildly into the grinning face above him, pleading with his empty eyes.

''But the frozen mask just smiles.''

The shriek was muffled under leather hands. Nobody was around to hear or see anything, and half an hour later a shadow slipped away through the rubble, a little golden cross clutched in its grasp.

-----------------------------

Quote 'And the patrons and the actors too are uncertain if the show is through, and with sidelong looks await their cue but the frozen mask just smiles' from V for Vendetta GN, This Vicious Cabaret.


	5. V

**Well here's the fifth chapter for you all. I'm amazed by how much positive feedback I've had, it's really making me carry this on. Anyway, my email isn't working so I couldn't send this to my beta reader beforehand, but I've had a quick scan and it seems alright. But sorry for any annoying typos/mistakes all the same.**

The next morning was worse then the previous by far. This time she more or less had proof that V wasn't around, which was like having her heart attacked by a thousand of his daggers. Groaning and stirring in his bed, she slapped a hand to her forehead and pulled herself out of the tangled covers, her legs stiff and her wrists bruised by her encounter with the fingerman the day before. She wasn't aware that he had grabbed her that hard but purple welts patterned her bony wrists and ran up her left arm. Her right fist was already scabbed and bandaged from punching the wall…_I must look pretty rough s_he thought, tracing the dark shadows beneath her eyes with a finger.

Her encounter with inspector Finch the day before hadn't exactly gone as planned. She was too absorbed in her disappointment about V that she had utterly forgotten what he had been trying to say. Something about the revolution, her being a key part, even the mention of using the scarlet Carson as a symbol, which she had turned down immediately. To her that flower was a symbol of V's darker personality, his murderous side. He had taken care never to present one directly to her. They both knew what it symbolised.

Maybe she had completely overreacted. He was only trying to help and was acting under V's orders. For God's sake, it wasn't like he'd tried to arrest her or anything. She should be thanking her lucky stars right now! On the other hand, she was amazed that V would have risked her life in that way. Finch could have been a monster like everyone else who was an important part of that government, and tricking her into meeting with him was very dangerous.

Evey walked into the sitting room and switched the TV on after fixing herself a snack. She was no expert at cooking like the previous resident but she was proud of her ability to cook all the same, and her pancakes were so delicious they could beat V's any day. Well, after another few years' practice maybe…

Something caught her attention quite quickly as she scanned vaguely through the various news channels, chewing on her pancake and attempting not to drip maple syrup on her knees. The screen was suddenly swallowed up by a single image, and to her shock it was the fingerman who had attacked her. The picture was black and white, and he looked a lot more polished than how she remembered him. His hair was scraped back from his greasy forehead and he had a rather mischievous smile on his face, dressed in the familiar black combat suit that Sutler had seemed to favour for house raids. A small caption underneath read 'Fingermen being targeted: Daniel Fletcher first to die.'

For a moment she thought that fingermen were actually being culled, but then image after image of his body being shoved into a black bag appeared on the screen. Obviously, censorship had been destroyed along with parliament because the scene was pretty gruesome and had been snapped by paparazzi. His chest was soaked in blood and his limbs twisted at odd angles, probably broken. His face held an expression of pure horror and his mouth gaped wide open in a silent scream.

All the blood in Evey's face had now drained. Her hands shook so violently that she dropped the remote, and she was instantly put off her food. That was _not_ the state she had left him in, and to think another human being had found him there on the ground and taken advantage of his weakened position, all because of her…it was sickening. However much he might have deserved it.

The next few hours were spent feeling guilty, convincing herself she had had no other choice, and then feeling guilty all over again. That man had been tortured. She should have known he wouldn't be able to move, should have known some sick bastard high on the celebrations would have found him. But who could be capable of torturing someone to that extent?

She went to sleep that night with a dead weight in her stomach and feeling emotions she'd thought were long gone. She shouldn't have remorse for that man but he was still human. Still had the chance to change. She'd thought knocking some sense into him would have worked…obviously somebody else thought it needed a little more.

And so consciousness slipped from her and deposited her straight into nightmares; the masked face flashing before her eyes…the grinning smile opening wide to swallow her, gunshots, ripping flesh, sobbing screams in the dead of night, noises at the edge of her senses, whispered voices in her ear, roses, pitch black, soft touches, footsteps…

She awoke covered in sweat, heart thundering against her ribcage. She didn't know what had woken her up; the terror, the shock of where her thoughts were taking her? Whatever it was, any wondering had been snatched straight out of her head because she knew she hadn't imagined those noises at the back of her mind.

Raising herself silently out of bed, Evey crossed to the door and opened it an inch. The corridor was deserted and the lights dimmed low, creating patches of colour on the ground. She followed the corridor to the gallery with soft footsteps, careful not to make too much sound. Someone was in the gallery and she was determined to find out who it was.

As she walked, Evey passed the glass case in which V kept his various swords and daggers. She bravely opened it and quietly removed a long, thin dagger. It was heavy in her hand, the blade itself seemed to whisper of death and she could visualise this cold length piercing warm skin with no regrets. Still, it the only weapon she had. And Evey was painfully aware of the speed of her breathing and the fright that threatened to overcome her.

The tension seemed to mount at an unbearable rate, her heartbeat thudding in her ears as she turned the corner into the main area of the shadow gallery. Her eyes hurriedly scanned the walls, floor and ceiling, spotting nothing that stood out. However, she had a strange feeling that she knew very well where to look.

Sure enough, there was another note in the knight's visor. She tore it out, ripped it open and stared at it with blank eyes, barely taking in the words.

_Evey,_

_I believe that the message of this note is clear simply by its existence, but nevertheless I cannot leave you with no explanation. All I have for you are a few words. Firstly, I am sorry. I made so many plans for you that I didn't even consider whether or not you were willing to participate in them. Mr Finch has assured me that you are unstable at the moment in time and I apologise for thinking you could recover so quickly from what you have seen and done…_

…Evey did not read any more. She flung the letter down on the floor, wrenched the front door of the gallery open and ran out as fast as she could. In a few minutes she reached street level and lost the shelter of indoors to stand in the torrential rain outside. But she did not care.

'V!' She screamed, her voice sounding worn and hysterical. 'V, I know you're there!'

The sound echoed slightly off the walls and she splashed through deep puddles, pacing the road. She looked around frantically, scanning every shadow in the dark street and ignoring the sound of shutters slamming open and voices shouting down to her.

'Shut the hell up! People are tryin' to sleep in here!'

But Evey was engrossed in her thoughts. He was alive. He was actually alive; he had written to her, he must hear her.

'Come back,' she sobbed, crouching on the soaking wet pavement in his shirt and a pair of her old shorts. She was a pathetic figure kneeling there in the puddles and dirt with a blade clasped in her hand, but no one else seemed to give a damn. Windows were being shut again and the last few curses were thrown at her.

She stood up for one last attempt, stepping out of the shadow of the building behind her.

'V! If you don't come back…I'll tell everyone. What you did to me…' at this point she was yelling, waking up the whole street. Tears were streaming down her face, mingling with the rain. She continued with desperation creeping into her voice. 'Your history, I know it all! I'll lay it all bare, V! That's what I'm prepared to do to get you to show yourself!'

'SHUT UP!' Cries came from all sides, people protesting out of their windows. 'You're a nutter! Jesus Christ…'

Nothing was working but she knew, she _knew, _he was watching. She could feel his gaze on her, feel him become nervous and aware that his story could be told to the whole world, here on this dirty London street. Of course, she could never do that even if she wanted to. But it was her last chance to get him to show himself…she couldn't bear another day without him being with her when he could if he wanted to.

Completely aware that the whole street was watching her, Evey backed into the shadows a little so that people wouldn't be able to see what she was going to do next. She shouted again, her voice steadier this time but clear enough to reach the closest houses.

'I know you can see me.'

Evey held the knife up in front of her face, her pulse accelerating by every second. Rain dripped down the blade, and she ran a finger along its edge to see how sharp it was. A single brush against the tip drew blood.

Closing her eyes, Evey raised the blade to her neck. She could actually feel her skin being pierced ever so little by the metal pressing lightly against it.

'Ten seconds,' she called, but not so loudly that everyone could hear.

And with that, she started to count down in her head. Although there was no way to be certain, the feeling that someone was moving towards her in the darkness made her senses prickle. It was just one of those things humans have never, and will never, be able to explain. She knew he was coming, although whether or not he was prepared to show himself to her, she wasn't sure.

Evey wasn't actually certain if she would pull the knife across yet. At first it had been intended as a desperate attempt at getting him back, but was it really worth living if he didn't want her? All she would have would be Finch. She didn't know anyone else in the world, and that panicked her beyond understanding.

Onlookers were gawping out of their windows, trying to find her in the shadows. But it was dark and she was a mere shadow herself, just another crazy person to them.

It was time. The blade nudged against her throat and something hit her: she wasn't afraid.

People were yelling at her now, but all the voices merged into one. She opened her eyes briefly to check the surroundings and saw nothing.

She shut her eyes again and grimaced, a twitch of her fingers drawing the start of a thin line.

The wind was knocked out of her and she reeled backwards, the hand on her stomach forcing her out of view. The knife clattered across the pavement and rested next to the kerb. A leather glove clutched her waist while another held her shoulder in a vice like grip. A single finger pressed into the side of her neck and Evey blacked out, slumped against the wall.


	6. Only Truth

For the first time in days, the gallery wasn't quiet when Evey stirred awake in the morning. The husky voice of a '50's singer drifted through from the kitchen. Even the artificial lights outside the door seemed to glow a little brighter, reflecting the mood of the day no doubt. For some reason she was still in V's bedroom; the door was ajar and delicious smells were wafting in through the crack, filling her nostrils and suddenly making her stomach growl in protest.

She hesitantly lifted herself off the mattress and crossed to the door, keeping very silent. There was a small cherry shaped bruise in the crook of her neck and she was more than aware of it, despite forgetting exactly how she had managed to acquire it. Her whole body ached slightly, her back muscles were knotted with tension and she had to keep grinding her teeth to loosen the stiffness in her jaw.

Could it possibly be…was V still alive? Right here, in the gallery once more? She almost couldn't believe her own thoughts. For what seemed like a lifetime she had mourned his death.

But yes, it _had_ been him last night. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. She recalled standing there in the pouring rain, a mixture of salt and fresh water sliding down her cheeks as she dug that blade into her neck. She gently followed the red slit across her throat, shuddering as she felt the ridges of a scab forming. The cut was cleaned; she vaguely remembered the sharp sting of an antibacterial fluid and then darkness once more. It was like he had just switched her consciousness off and on whenever he pleased, like she was some kind of twisted obedient puppet. That smell of leather, the heavy breathing as she was pinned roughly to the wall, the flash of a painted smile in the night…it was just like the dream she'd had before finding his note. But Evey was not naïve enough to believe in déjà vu; it was understandable that V would contact her at some time or another if he was alive.

The only ironic thing was, now that he was here…she didn't even want to see him.

On the other hand, the thought of him in the next room was rather overwhelming. A part of her wanted to kick open the door and run into his arms, while the other side of her argued that he should be coming to _her_, not the other way round. After all, he was the one who had led her on a wild goose chase for days and constantly played with her emotions. It was manipulative behaviour from such a gentleman.

And so she chose the latter option. Evey waited, sitting tersely on the edge of the bed, a stony look carved into her face. Her jaw grinded, she fiddled with her nails, wore them down to the quick, rubbed her knuckles, scratched her head, continuously shot peeks over her shoulder at the door should he come in. But all these little fidgets and sighs did nothing to draw her into his room.

Eventually she let out one final indignant exclamation and stormed over to the door, pulling it open with arguably more force than was needed.

…And there he was. Standing right there. In the doorway. His left hand had been resting on the doorknob but Evey had snatched it out of his hand as she flung it open, and in his right he held a dainty china plate with a huge slab of eggy in the basket resting on it. That apron she found so hilariously feminine was tied around his trim middle, splattered in egg and butter and God knows what else, and his head was cocked to one side in that infuriatingly quizzical manner.

Evey stood there staring up into his face, feeling very small indeed. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish starved of oxygen and her hands twitched by her sides, longing to embrace him but being restrained by an invisible force. The moment was indescribably awkward but she basked in the tension it created; fireworks were going off inside her head and her vision was overtaken by tiny lights and blurs, dancing around the black eye slits in front of her.

'Evey, I…'

She knocked her breakfast out of his hand with one swift swipe and it crashed to the floor, throwing egg and bread over the ground. V looked at it and then turned his head back again sharply, as if he expected her to slap him when he wasn't looking. But Evey took a step closer, so close that she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. Her head was level with his shoulder and she could distinctly hear his heartbeat hammering in his chest, whether it was her proximity or his uncertainty she would never know. The mask was tilted down and her forehead almost touched his porcelain nose.

Gently, she took one of his arms and wrapped it around herself. He quickly got the hint and took a small step forwards. And in that moment, as he entered her personal space, the awkwardness was gone.

Evey was instantly enveloped in his embrace, her arms gripping his back and his over her shoulders. The heat emanated from him, that musky scent from his clothes was all around her and she closed her eyes, nestling her head into his shoulder. She heard him sigh quietly, relieved, and distinctly felt him grip her more tightly to him like he would never let go.

They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, while it was realistically only a few precious minutes. Emotions raced through her mind that she had never encountered around V, not even when she had reached up and kissed him all those days ago. That had been an attempt to make him stay, to offer him a promise of love in order to keep him by her side. But this was his return to her life, not his exit. Maybe that's why nothing in the world existed except her and V, and that corridor, and the gallery.

His gloved hand softly stroked her shaved head and he whispered her name over and over inside his head. He could not cry because the tears seemed to have dried up in his eyes, but he would have been crying a river by now if it weren't for his psychological boundaries. No matter how hard he tried, his mind could not signal his body to react openly to the feelings washing over him. Which he should feel thankful for really…he did not want Evey to think him melodramatic.

After a while Evey reluctantly pulled herself out of his grip. V relaxed his hold on there and once more he looked unsure and confused. Should he enter the room? They certainly needed to talk things over; he was actually astonished at Evey's quick forgiveness.

She stepped back and looked down at the ground, before heaving a heavy sigh. Then she raised her head and looked him full in the face. Her eyes glistened slightly with tears and her cheeks were flushed, but she also carried an air of seriousness. V had missed that look so much…and he, the master of literature, could not find words to describe this to her.

'V, where were you?' She croaked.

He tucked his arms behind his back and looked up as if the ceiling could provide him with the right answers. But no, the female species was too complicated and he knew that anything he said would ignite a negative reaction.

'Could we sit down somewhere?'

Evey nodded and walked down the corridor. V followed her slowly, different excuses and explanations speeding through his mind and right back out again. He couldn't lie to her because it would undermine all of his beliefs and everything he had ever preached to her, and yet in that moment he could comprehend why people did such things. However, he would not make himself a hypocrite, and so V braced himself in the calm before the storm. The truth was painful…he just hoped he had someone to hold afterwards.

He motioned for Evey to sit down on the sofa and then sat beside her. He had to compose himself for a second before turning towards her, the mask hiding a thousand conflicted faces.

'Evey, you believed me dead.'

'Yes, you were. You were _bleeding_ V, so much. So much that I couldn't understand how someone could survive it.'

He looked away from the tears welling in her eyes, although the mask disguised this.

'For a long time,' he murmured ' I thought I was dead. I certainly passed away in one sense because the first thing I remember is being on a train speeding towards parliament.'

Evey's eyes opened wide in horror. 'So…you weren't conscious when I put you on there? Jesus Christ V, I thought you'd done it so that I wouldn't know you'd died. I could have killed you!'

'Well,' he said, his real lips twitching into a smile, 'you almost managed it. But alas, I found myself too stubborn. Maybe I wasn't worthy of such a Viking funeral.'

He studied his hands for an excuse to keep from looking her in the eye. 'I would never have believed my body to be so well defended. After all, I was pierced with more than bullets. Attacking a crowd of fingermen isn't the best remedy for gunshot wounds. In a way, I believe all that movement did me the most harm.'

Evey ignored what he had just said; she didn't want to learn any details of what had happened to him that night, not right now. 'But…you were shot, a lot of times.'

'Indeed, but I'm afraid that in order to explain my recovery…I will have to go into detail about my past. And I do not think you are quite ready for that.'

'Yes I am,' Evey shot back, quite insulted. 'You mean _you're_ not ready for that.'

He nodded ever so slightly. 'You read me like a book, Miss Hammond.'

'Well it took a while to suss you out, I had a year to do it though. You're hard to look through, V.'

He gave a small laugh from deep in his throat. 'I had the length of my vendetta to seal myself off from other people. A decade is a long time.'

Evey grinned. 'But still, I can wait for that. What I really want to know…is why didn't you come back sooner? You were leaving me messages through notes. That's not the way to show me you were still alive.'

This was the part of their discussion he had feared.

'Evey, I beg you not to be offended by what I am going to say. But you must understand: this is the way I had always intended it to be. Ever since you came into my life.'

Suddenly the sofa was very hot. Evey shifted a little, sensing that their talk was about to travel down a different road. They hadn't even mentioned his confession to her on the platform yet.

But then it didn't, and she was relieved and disappointed at the same time. He carried on, oblivious to what was going on inside her head.

'I had always planned to die. The fact that my body managed to withstand such a beating amazed and appalled me, to be frank. I woke up a short way from parliament and noticed a platform flash past. I knew I had to make a choice; to die along with my vendetta, or keep living to nurture it further. But in all honesty, I don't think that was the real reason I threw myself from the train at the next platform.'

His eyes were instantly level with Evey's, and colour flooded into her cheeks.

'Leaving you was what made me open my eyes, made me start breathing once more. I had spent too many months away from you in the time between your leaving the gallery and November the 5th. To abandon you for the rest of your life…' His voice seized up in his throat and he looked at her, as if she might finish the sentence for him. But she was just staring at him, unable to speak herself.

'…I just couldn't do it.'

That was enough for her. Her head was still buzzing with unanswered questions, but at the moment she was content with the information she'd received. Not to mention the blissful happiness she felt. He had made himself wake up because of her. That had to mean something special, didn't it?

'V, about what you said on the platform...'

He immediately became on edge, remembering those three words burning through his lips. At the time, he wasn't even aware that he felt so strongly towards Evey. All he'd known was that he hated her not being there, wanted her to stay by his side. But after what he'd put her through, what chance did he stand? He didn't deserve her company, let alone her love. Maybe that was why he'd confessed it in what he thought were his last moments with her, because she wouldn't be able to reject him. And even if she had, he wouldn't have to be mortified for much longer.

But now the plan had gone awry and V felt rather hot under the collar. He was going to be humiliated, turned down. He was scared of his own emotions at that moment. He didn't know what he would do if the inevitable happened.

Evey didn't feel up for returning the favour just yet. She was still a little offended at his late return to her side, but it was so, so tempting. He was faking vague interest but she knew through his body language that he was tense and ready to drink in everything she said next. After everything, all the regret she had been feeling over the past few days for not saying 'I love you too' had gone. She knew she'd say it sometime soon but she didn't feel like the moment was right. She wanted it to be perfect.

'You said you had no tree waiting for you. I said it before and I'll say it again,' she reached out and clasped one of his hands in her own. He looked down at their entwined fingers in alarm, relieved that she wasn't stamping on his heart.

'That's not true.'


	7. Open Doors

**Short but very sweet : )**

**(I didn't post two chapters, for the people who got two alerts. I noticed some bad mistakes and had to correct them, so apologies for any inconvenience.)**

The rest of that day was quite strange. V and Evey were both not sure how to act around each other. Wasn't there so much more to discuss? After all, he'd just admitted pulling himself out of a moving train for her sake, and although she felt flattered beyond understanding Evey wasn't exactly sure what he desired from her. To be fair, she regretted holding back her feelings in the way she had. Every impulse in her being was willing her to open her mouth and say 'I love you' but after hours of painful deliberation, she came to the conclusion that she was scared of the consequences. He had only been able to say it when he had because he wasn't expecting to come back and face the reaction.

Evey was sat in her own room now. Despite V insisting that she take up permanent residence in his bedroom, she was determined to make a point by spending at least some of her time in the little book-filled room that was technically hers. It was possibly rude to be sitting in here while V cooked dinner in the kitchen, but she needed some time alone and it was the first opportunity she'd had all day.

After their discussion they had sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes and then V promptly excused himself, striding out of the room. An hour or so later, she had heard him fighting with the knight in the living area. Getting out some stress? Understandable, she reasoned, seeing as he'd probably expected her to tell him she loved him. Evey felt nauseous now. Maybe he thought she didn't love him at all…and that 'I don't want you to die' meant just that and nothing else.

She curled into a ball on her bed, lying on her side. She felt a few tears slide down her cheeks but thought nothing of it, wiping them away with a freshly bandaged fist. V had tenderly cleaned her grazed knuckles and wrapped her hand in gauze and thick bandages, to the eventual effect of it resembling a small boxing glove. She admired his caring instinct and the gentlemanly manner in which he treated her; keeping a respectable distance between the two of them at all times, opening doors, standing to attention whenever she called him. However, a part of Evey wanted to know more about who he was inside. Not just his true face (which she doubted he would ever show her) but his past. Earlier she'd scolded him when he'd avoided explaining his history, but now she had a curious nagging voice at the back of her mind that compelled her to ask him more.

'Evey?'

She sat up with a start. There had been a small knock on the door and it was ajar. She rolled her eyes at his impeccable manners. She would have to be careful not to act too much like herself, because he was a gentleman and she was in no way a lady.

'Come in,' she called. He entered, not wearing that hilarious apron but a silk black shirt instead. She raised her eyebrows, impressed and slightly embarrassed…because that was the same style of shirt she'd been sleeping in. However, while it was hugely oversized on her it subtly highlighted his muscular physique.

She'd never really thought about V and the physical aspect of him. But she certainly was now.

He entered uncertainly and Evey patted the side of the bed next to her

'I thought you might be in here,' he said, not sitting but staying next to the door. 'I just came in to tell you that dinner will be ready shortly.'

With that he turned on his heel.

'Don't go!'

He turned around in alarm, head cocked to one side. 'Yes?'

The look in her eyes told him to sit down beside her and he did, albeit hesitantly.

'Evey, you've been crying, allow me…' he reached across and brushed away a tear with his glove. Evey smiled half heartedly at him.

'Look, I'm sorry I haven't been around you as much as I would've liked today. I just need to make sure of something,' Evey said. She could hardly even see the mask, since the light had been turned off when he came in. Only a little brightness from the corridor flooded in, illuminating her face while his was cast in shadow.

'…That talk we had earlier. It didn't go right.'

V raised his head a little, surveying her expression carefully. 'And how was it meant to end?' He asked, piercing her with his gaze. Evey thought she could actually see the outlines of his eyes through the slits in the mask, his stare was so intense.

'Well...' Jesus, this was difficult. 'I don't think I said what I really meant to say.'

He drew back a tiny amount. Was she actually taking back the only sentimentality she'd given him? She didn't even want to be around him, let alone love him?'

She saw this and quickly made sure he hadn't got the wrong impression.

'No, V, I didn't mean I'm regretting whatever I said, the opposite, I…' words failed her and she looked at him helplessly, feeling small. 'I'm not very good at this.' She whispered.

'Evey,' he sighed, 'you are the only person who has ever ventured to touch me in a caring way. I have only ever been subject to violence and abuse before you…I'm not asking for any more than you have already given me.'

'I know that,' she said softly. 'But I want to.'

Now he was concentrating more than ever on what she was saying. He was willing her to say just three words, three words which would change his life forever.

Evey smiled to herself. She'd assumed that this occasion would come complete with fireworks, a garland of roses, and a candlelit dinner. But honestly? It was even more special than that. With V sitting next to her, not even pretending that he wasn't bothered, looking at her so deeply. This was how it was meant to be.

'I love you.'


	8. Monster

* * *

'Evey...' he began, and immediately regretted not considering what he was going to say beforehand. He froze up, his lips lingering on words he was afraid to say. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but how would she react to it? She hadn't even seen his face, didn't even know his name.

Then again, neither did he.

So instead he stayed very quiet. Evey looked at him to see if when he would continue but he just sat there, smiling infuriatingly at her. She felt tears pricking her eyes, tears of frustration and dread.

V reached out and tentatively stroked her face, tracing her jaw with his gloved finger. She smiled and closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath. He inched closer, and then seemed to change his mind. He got up and stood in front of Evey, towering over her. He extended a hand and she took it, rising to her feet. They looked at each other. She couldn't even see his face, just the tall shadow in front of her. His eyes drank in every aspect of his Evey, from her beautiful face to the slightly perplexed expression she wore.

"My mistress with a monster is in love," he sighed. Evey reached up and placed a palm on the side of his mask. 'There's no use running away from it, V. I said you were a monster once' He bowed his head a little in a nod. 'And,' she added, 'you can't hide behind quotes forever. I don't think you're a monster anymore.'

V held her hand against the porcelain, closing his eyes. 'Evey,' he whispered, so softly she had to move closer to catch it. 'I tortured you…I reduced you to skin and bones, almost beat the life out of you. All just to test your limits. If that doesn't make me a monster then I do not know what will. I don't deserve your love.'

With that he broke free of her grip and strode out of the room, a glove clutching the mask as if he wanted to tear it from his face and smash it into the floor. But he was just holding his face, the way people do when they're hiding tears. The mask had melted into his face a long time ago, and as Evey stood alone there in the semi-darkness, she realised it would take more effort than she'd thought to remove it forever.

She listened to his heavy footsteps disappearing down the corridor and felt nothing but numbness. He hadn't rejected her and yet he hadn't accepted her love either…she didn't know what to feel.

She looked down at her wrists. They were scarred with the marks of handcuffs, the ones he had used to tie her to the side of the wall when she'd screamed too loud in the night. The knuckles on her left hand were uneven and bruised from grinding them against her cell, to test if she could feel pain still. She could.

For so long, she'd loathed the very thought of him for what he'd done to her. But while she had spent countless nights in her flat coming to terms with the pain he'd inflicted on her, he had had no time to come to terms with it himself. In the long run Evey had accepted that it was all for the best; he'd taken away her fear and replaced it with a cold hatred of the government. While V had been planning the destruction of parliament he hadn't had time to face up to what he'd done, probably struggling on regardless of his emotions to November the 5th, when he wouldn't have to hate himself anymore.

But of course, that plan was ruined now. He probably wanted to destroy every cell in his body.

Evey made up her mind and walked straight out of the room, determined to find him and make him face her. She scoured the gallery and couldn't find him, and after a few minutes of frantic searching she felt panic overtaking her. Had he disappeared? No…she couldn't lose him, not again…

And then a thought hit her, and she cursed herself for not thinking of it earlier. The lift was in a hidden corner of the gallery, one she hardly ever ventured near. It was disguised as an ordinary door but she knew better. She went over to it and pulled it open, revealing the small compartment inside. It was chilly in there and the walls were made from rusting, dented metal. There were also scuff marks on the floor, like a fight had taken place here once. Maybe someone had discovered V's hideout years ago and wandered in to take a look. There was so much he hadn't told her.

She stepped inside the lift and looked at the buttons beside the door. There was just one to take you up and down. There was only one stop.

She pressed it and felt the floor judder beneath her feet, taking her up to the roof. The air in the lift was chilly and she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling confined and claustrophobic in the small amount of space. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up.

The lift crunched to a halt and the door shakily moved across the opening, introducing the balcony she had once stood on in the rain. Evey stepped out, expecting to see V immediately, but he was nowhere to be seen. She leaned over the edge of the balcony, peering down on to the street. It was completely empty save for a young girl walking on the pavement, head bowed down to the ground and obviously not wanting to be detected.

She stepped back and kicked the balcony with the toe of her shoe, irritated because she'd assumed he'd be here. The whole of London was his home, not just the shadow gallery. She looked over the rooftops in the distance, and a smile etched itself across her lips. She saw a black shape sitting next to a gargoyle-type statue a number of buildings away, almost hidden behind the sloping roof of the building in front. There was no way to reach him because, unlike V, Evey didn't have the ability to sneak across rooftops without fear of falling.

Eventually she saw the black smudge move from its position, making its way swiftly across the rooftops. She gasped as it jumped a gap between houses and landed elegantly on the other side, with hardly a break in its step.

As V drew nearer, Evey drew further into the shadows. She could make out his mask now, coming closer until he disappeared around a corner. A couple of minutes passed and she wondered where he was. Suddenly, he seemed to fall from the sky and landed right in front of her, having jumped from above her hiding place. His broad back was facing her as he surveyed the landscape. He was wearing his hat and cape, and Evey glimpsed the shimmer of knives at his hips when he walked over to the balcony.

He leaned against it and once again held his mask in his hands. She was just about to emerge and show herself, but as Evey drew in a breath to call out the noise caught in her throat and she had to prevent herself from gagging audibly. V had placed his hat beside him on the balcony and his hands were slipping beneath the wig.

She didn't know what to do or what to say. Should she show herself? Evey was struggling with her desire to see his face and her need to respect his privacy at the same time.

But it was too late anyway. The straps holding the mask in place came off, and suddenly Guy Fawkes was staring at her from the edge of the balcony rather than from V's face. It looked strange seeing the mask by itself, without an owner. However, her main worry at the moment was that he would turn around and see her. And even more so, that she would see him.

He removed his cloak and stretched, showing the muscles in his back flexing beneath the material. Evey gulped. She had realised just how strong he was…if he overreacted to her being here she didn't stand a chance. Luckily, he also reached down to his waist and unbuckled the belt of knives. He laid them beside him and raised his head to the sky, taking in the fresh air while it wasn't hindered by the weight of the mask.

She couldn't wait any longer…if he turned around she'd get the biggest shock of her life, and he'd probably be furious. Without thinking, Evey build up the courage and shouted 'V!'

She saw him visibly freeze, his shoulders immediately clenched and tensed. His arms were stock still.

'Evey,' he said loudly, so that she could hear. 'Don't come any closer.'

'I won't,' she called, her voice trembling. She could tell he was shocked.

His hand reached out to grab the mask and while one hand held it to his face, the other tied the straps underneath the wig. V turned around to look at Evey and it seemed like the smile on his face had turned into an expression of contempt.

She walked over slowly and stood before him, uncomfortably aware of his gaze penetrating her. He was waiting for her to say something.

'I…I didn't know you were about to take your mask off,' she breathed. V stayed silent and stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair was a little disarrayed from fumbling with his mask, and Evey reached up to brush the fringe back into place. He jumped at her touch but it seemed to break the tension all the same. He straightened up and let his arms drop to his sides, showing he was relaxed.

'No matter,' he said quietly. 'I'm just relieved you called me when you did.'

Evey nodded. 'Listen, V. I don't know what to say about earlier but there's something you should know.' He inclined his head to show he was listening, their uncomfortable scrape seemingly forgotten now he was interested in what she was saying.

'I meant what I said, but you just ran off. And I hate to say this, but…it wasn't like you to run away from something.'

V hung his head like he was a child being told off. 'This is something I cannot understand,' he muttered. 'I have never been unable to understand you before, Evey. You are the one person I can depend upon. You shocked me, that's all.'

'I was expecting to shock you. I'm not naïve, I know it was a surprise to you.' She raised his head to make him look at her, her fingers tilting the chin of his mask. He obviously thought she was trying to remove the mask because his hand shot up and caught hers, then dropped when he realised she just wanted his full attention. Her eyes somehow seemed larger than usual, staring straight into his.

'You do know…I will never take back what I said on November the 5th,' he said. 'But Evey, I don't deserve your love. I have done nothing to gain it.'

'Oh really? What, saving me from the government and letting me stay with you for months didn't help? Following me to Gordon's and snatching me before the fingermen managed…'

'…and doing the same to you as they would have done? Yes, I certainly warrant your love.'

'No,' she snapped, 'you set me free. Do you have any idea what that means to me? I think it hurt you more than it hurt me in the end.'

He moved uncomfortably, breaking eye contact.

'I hate myself for it,' said V quietly.

'You shouldn't. If I can love you after that, I can love you after anything.'

Evey could detect the smile in his voice as he said, 'well, let's just hope I don't have to test those boundaries.'

Without thinking, they embraced again and Evey clung on to the fabric of his shirt like it was the edge of a cliff. The sun set slowly behind them and she watched people moving down below on the street, unaware that their saviour was falling in love all over again.

* * *

**'My mistress with a monster is in love' - A Midsummer Night's Dream, Shakespeare.**


	9. Skin

**Thank you for the reviews you've given me! One in particular caught my eye and I'd like to say, that really meant a lot to me. I'm glad so many people like this story because I was considering leaving it at chapter 8 and starting a new one. However, I'll keep this story going until I reach a definite ending. **

**I feel like I should apologise again if some people receive two alerts for Cry Me A River. For some reason, half of the document cut off just before the last paragraph which, given the situation, would have been extremely infuriating.**

**I am also looking for an _occasional _beta reader because my current beta reader doesn't seem to be around. Please contact me at the email stated in my profile if you're a grammar nazi and would like to give it a go.**

**Please R & R, I truly appreciate it.**

* * *

V stood in front of the mirror. The room was almost pitch black, for the lights were turned down so low only his mask glowed brightly. He toyed with the edge of his doublet hesitantly with raw hands, running his fingers across the hem.

This was his new room – probably the only room in his home that Evey didn't know existed. Hopefully she would be safely asleep in his domain now, after he had insisted on her occupying it permanently. While she put it down to his impeccable manners, only V knew that it was a ruse to afford him some privacy.

And here he stood in these comfortable surroundings, staring at a reflection he did not want to see. He wanted to have a face of flesh, not porcelain. He wanted smooth, supple skin, like Evey's. Not the mess of scars and charred skin that angrily plagued his body. He wanted to be able to smile at Evey the way she smiled at him; with a little mischief and affection. He wanted to feel physically attractive, so that she wanted him in the same way he wanted her.

V wanted a lot of things he didn't have.

He grimaced beneath the mask and started to take off the heavy material. The light in the room hardly illuminated anything, but the red skin stood out like a neon sign as it was slowly uncovered. He started with the doublet, inching it back off of his shoulders and placing it neatly in the wardrobe to his left. _Well, that wasn't so bad. _He braced himself for the next task, taking deep, calming breaths. _Think of Evey. Think how proud she would be._

He gripped the tunic determinedly and pulled it swiftly over his head, leaving the wig somewhat disorientated but the mask in place. He gazed at his bare chest, trying to look past the angry white scars that criss-crossed his abdomen and travelled up to his neck. Here, it was obvious that some of these scars were new. A wide length of bandage looped over his broad shoulder and came back up underneath his arm, specks of crimson marring the virgin whiteness of the material. Tiny indentations in his torso were expertly stitched, each one reminding him of the bullets that had sliced his flesh apart in the first place. He shuddered at the memory of sewing himself back together, feeling the agony and torment he forced upon himself as the needle plunged in again and again, the thin wooden rolling pin gripped between his teeth muffling any screams or signs of protest.

He couldn't see how the muscles rippling across his body could be appealing to a woman. To him, the only thing they reflected was his years in combat, and that was a disgusting recollection. Each sign of strength merely represented the blood he had spilt. His burnt hands gently traced the definite lines between muscle and softer skin, attempting to make himself approve of his appearance. He even flexed his arms briefly, watching the biceps rise and then fall in disappointment. No matter how powerful he was, he would always be revolting.

V closed his eyes behind the mask and reached around the back of his head, fingers fumbling with the straps underneath the wig. He inhaled sharply as the straps released, and lowered Guy Fawkes on to the top of the high-backed armchair beside him.

His eyes snapped open, but avoided looking at the reflection in front of him. Instead V hung his face in his hand and roughly pulled down the makeshift blind, so that it covered the glass. His hands were clenched into tight fists and he had begun to subconsciously grind his teeth in pure frustration. Images of him and Evey together flashed through his mind, pushing all other thoughts from his head. His red raw skin touching her white complexion, her eyes widening as she saw the monster who had tricked her into falling in love with him, being rejected for the last time he could stand…

V tore the wig from his head and flung it unceremoniously into a corner of the room, and then slammed his fist against the light switch. He was plunged into delicious darkness once again and all he could sense was the sound of his breathing, increasingly ragged, all around him. Sweat covered the patches of his body that retained unharmed skin. He strained his eyes against the dark, sadly peering down at where he assumed his hands were.

So this was why monsters only came out at night.

* * *

Evey breezed in the next morning, happy to find V slaving over her breakfast.

'Really V, you're obviously not a man who believes in traditional family roles,' she chuckled, as he flipped the French toast high in the air and caught it with expert movements. He shot her a look.

'Are you commenting on my choice of attire?'

She glanced at the floral apron he was wearing and hid a grin. 'No, not at all. I can just see all that patriarchal nonsense means nothing to you. If it did, I'm sure I'd be the one flipping toast in the morning.'

She sat herself down at the table and poured them both cups of tea from the pot, out of politeness. She knew he would never drink it in front of her, but it had still become some sort of ritual to pretend he would.

V placed her breakfast in front of her and pulled the chair out for himself, surveying her with his mask resting on clasped hands.

'Dear, if you were the one 'flipping toast in the morning' as you so eloquently stated, I fear I would not be here to mock your attempts at being a housewife.'

'My cooking's not so bad it would _kill_ you.'

'I beg to differ.'

'Yes, because Sutler's many assassination attempts are no match for my eggy in the basket.'

'Pardon you?'

'Oh,' she realised it hadn't been V who had said that to her. 'That's what Gordon calls it.'

She instantly detected her use of the present tense and corrected herself hurriedly. '_Called_, I mean.' She sent V a heartbreaking look across the table and he almost reached for her, but froze as he was about to extend his arms for fear of embedding his elbow in the butter tray. Evey looked down at her lap and shook her head. 'It's still hard to believe that he's gone.'

'It's hard to believe that a lot of people are gone,' he added quietly.

She brushed her eyes and smiled at him. 'You're not.'

'Well, I sincerely hope not. I seem to be rather realistic.'

'You know what I mean,' she said, leaning forward. 'I thought you were dead, I put you on a bloody train heading for parliament!'

'Yes, well it would have been a much more heroic death than being poisoned by your abominable cooking.'

She grinned while trying to force a serious expression on to her face. 'You can joke about that all you want, but I genuinely regret giving up on you so soon.'

'Evey,' he sighed, 'I would have done the same thing. I am amazed myself by how instant my recovery was…learning a little home surgery never did anyone any harm.'

She grimaced and wrinkled her nose. 'You operated on yourself? V, you can't get a lot more morbid than that. You know I would have helped you.'

He tilted his head to the side and observed her, waiting for Evey to realise that in order for her to have aided him, she would have had to see his body. Comprehension dawned on her face, but to his astonishment she didn't seem embarrassed by the thought of seeing his bare skin.

She fixed him with a steady gaze and the roles were reversed. V could tell that if he had normal skin, his cheeks would be burning.

'V, just by looking at you I can tell you're like no man I've ever seen.'

His eyes blinked in surprise, intrigued. 'How so?'

This time Evey was blushing, and she speared her toast with the fork so violently he feared it may have cracked the plate and dented the table. _Great job, you've just made it clear you've been lusting after him ever since you saw him take that goddamn mask off._

She stopped her attack on the French toast and looked up shyly, irritatingly aware of the absence of hair to hide behind. Evey swept back an invisible curl from her forehead.

'Just…don't think you're nothing special. Because you are, you're…' she tried to pluck words from the air and failed miserably. After a few seconds of mindless internal conversation Evey seemed to rejoin the discussion. 'I know too well, what love women to men may owe.'(1)

'Viola,' V said.

'That's right.'

Maybe V always quoted Shakespeare to take the easy way out? Just in case his own words could not adequately express what he wanted to say. Whatever his reasons were, he still got the point she was trying to put across.

'Transferred into this context, I see what you are saying.' He felt extremely hot, aware that he couldn't hide behind vague language in this situation. He wouldn't give Evey the wrong impression.

She was sitting in rapt attention, waiting for an answer. He opened his mouth several times to say something, but every sentence he thought of sounded ridiculous when he voiced it in his head…so instead, he decided to be honest.

'I think there's something we need to talk about.

She looked concerned, detecting the coldness in his voice that was associated with something she didn't know about.

'Evey, I've still not mentioned my past at all. I think before you rush into…feelings…you should know that I am indeed not like any other man you've ever seen. You may not want to hear this, but I believe you have the right to.'

'Go on,' she urged. 'You can trust me with anything. You know you can.'

He took a deep breath and then continued.

'I cannot recall any memories before the last two decades. As you suspected, I was subject to the same treatment I put you through…except the allowances I made for you,' an incredulous look spread across her face at his brashness, but he carried on despite this. '…did not apply for me. And by allowances, Evey, I am referring to the torture techniques I could not use on you.'

'And what were these oh-so-terrible techniques you had the kind heart not to use?' said Evey sarcastically.

'Mutilation, hallucinatory drugs' his voice seemed to merge into a false, emotionless deadpan. 'And rape. To name a few.' Her mouthed formed an 'O' and he continued, not wishing to go into detail about that particular event.

'I was part of an experiment funded by Norsefire, what was then just another fascist government party that nobody expected to gain control. Of course, if it wasn't for the St Mary's Crisis, Sutler would never have become Chancellor and there would have been no reclamation. What you do not know is that Norsefire created this deadly virus, released it on to the public, and when tyranny and terror began to rise Norsefire was there with the cure. Naturally, they took over after they stormed the election polls.'

V felt guilty for telling this to Evey. He was aware of her past, of her little brother dying in the St. Mary's attack. He could tell it was effecting her because her face had drained of colour.

'I was one of their test subjects.'

She stood up unexpectedly, almost knocking the table backwards. V was next to her in an instant, gripping her arm tightly for fear of her fainting from the shock. She gave him a glance that put across mixed messages, but he disregarded the contempt in her eyes because he knew it wasn't directed at him personally. He manoeuvred Evey into the living area, where he lowered her carefully on to the sofa.

'Look at me. Listen to me.'

He tapped her cheek gently with his hand, bringing her gaze back to his face. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

'I was injected with the virus. I must have had immunity for a reason that is still unknown to me, but I can remember sitting in my cell, as you did, determined to come out alive. The virus almost killed me. It left scars you cannot see on the surface.'

'What were you in there for?' She asked, attempting to stop her voice trembling.

'I don't know. They never told me, and I can't remember. Like I said, the virus left unspeakable scars. For years I did not know what I missed most: my memory or my sanity.'

He smiled grimly behind the mask. 'Luckily I managed to acquire the latter over time. I vented my anger into a vendetta against the guards, the scientists, the army and even the priest; everyone who possessed a position of considerable power at the detention centre. Anyone who was involved later regretted it.'

'What did you do?' Whispered Evey.

'I managed to resist the virus, give them valuable information about my anatomy in return for some small privileges. Of course, nothing I gave was voluntary but the rewards were magnificent in terms of my escape. Delia, the main scientist there, was intrigued by my strong defence against the virus, and persuaded Prothero to allow me a small patch of garden to grow flowers. I grew scarlet carsons.'

Evey's eyes widened and her lips parted a little in understanding.

'I ordered gardening supplies, mainly substances that could potentially be used to make explosives. Ammonia based fertiliser, grease solvent…among other ingredients.' He looked intently at Evey. 'The poor woman thought stealing these things for my own use was a psychological breakthrough for me. She encouraged it. The foolish bastards…'

This was the first time she had ever heard him curse, and he did it with such vehemence in his voice. The intensity of his words was compelling and frightening at the same time.

'I blew the place up, Evey. Sent it up into the sky one night, December 23rd I believe. I remember it well. All of these explosives were under their noses the whole time, and I disguised it as my mental breakthrough. I set them off when I felt I was ready, and that night will forever be imprinted both on my mind and my body. This is what I am trying to tell you.'

'That…?'

'Those explosives detonated in my cell. I was thrown clear along with half of the building and the wall of my cell. However, bruises I can live with. The fire, on the other hand...' He visibly shuddered. 'Napalm and mustard gas. I didn't expect to survive, and yet by some miracle I managed it. I was ecstatic, reborn, a new man. But I was full of hatred as well, and that's how my vendetta came to be.'

He pinned her to the spot with his eyes, surveying what her reaction would be to his next words.

'It is also how my body was ruined. I was consumed in fire, flames fuelled by countless numbers of chemicals. It's a miracle I lived. But Evey…if you are expecting a handsome face beneath this mask, do not fool yourself. My body might as well be destroyed for saying how hideous it is, and no woman in her right mind could ever feel anything but pity for a man in my position. I cannot even look at myself in the mirror.'

Evey's expression was completely blank. He could not read her face at all, and paranoid voices were flitting through his head. _She hates you, she's going to leave you after all this time, you've made a terrible mistake coming back here…_

'Take off your mask,' she said quietly.

He was filled with a sudden sensation of dread. She wasn't _asking_ him, she was_ telling_ him.

'I can't.' He said simply.

She didn't take her eyes off the black slits in the mask, but he noticed Evey shifting her position on the sofa. Before he was aware of what she was doing, she was sitting so close to him that he could feel her breath through the tiny gaps between mask and skin on his neck. A quiet sound issued from deep in his throat, an involuntary exclamation that couldn't be repressed. The sensation scored a fiery path of longing through his arms and chest, and he knew instinctively that something was about to happen.

'Please,' she breathed.

V tilted his head forward a tiny amount and she raised hers to meet his gaze. Their foreheads were almost touching, and the only thing that existed was the stifling heat and the sofa they were sitting on.

She could actually see the whites of his eyes this near to him, and his eyes were searching her face frantically. She felt gloriously out of her depth.

Seemingly without realising, Evey grabbed a fistful of his doublet, wanting to feel every inch of him. V let a hand snake up her back, trail over her shoulder and then stroked the length of her exposed collarbone. She hissed in a breath and tightened her grip, roughly bringing their faces against one another. Hot skin met with cold porcelain.

'I can't, not yet,' he said, although it came out as a frenzied whisper. Evey wasn't in the mood for arguing, and she didn't care about him taking his mask off anymore. She just wanted this moment to last for a lifetime.

He completely contradicted himself as he said this by wrapping one arm around her waist to usher her closer, while he let his right hand slide delicately up her neck to rest possessively on her jaw, tilting her face the way a lover would if he could kiss her. Her breath was warm and sweet, and he could almost taste her through Guy Fawkes' lips. It suddenly dawned on V that this was heading somewhere he wasn't ready for, hadn't planned, couldn't cope with…

And then Evey's lips brushed against the mask and he was lost. It would have seemed ridiculous at any other time to kiss a mask with such passion, but her arms were locked fiercely around his neck and he welcomed it, sliding the leather gloves off to feel her skin against his.

She let out a gasp as she felt his ungloved hands sliding across her back, underneath her shirt. Goosebumps pebbled her skin and Evey arched her back a little, accidentally grinding her leg against his thigh. He felt her shoulder blades rise and dip as she stretched. V's vision was dancing with pinpricks of light before him and the only thing he could feel was Evey's body on his, and the desperate press of her mouth. He began to change positions, their legs tangling, now that they lay side by side.

And then he saw his hands, scorched and ugly against the flushed skin on her hip. He stopped moving and she felt his stillness, looking in the direction he was facing. She, too, saw the contrast between the two of them but dismissed it and turned those pleading eyes on him once more.

But it was more than that to V. He remembered the revulsion he'd felt when looking at himself, just the night before. _His red raw skin touching her white complexion, her eyes widening as she saw the monster who had tricked her into falling in love with him, being rejected for the last time he could stand…_

He stood up shakily, still panting with desire and loathing himself for it. He looked down at Evey.

'I can't,' he exclaimed for the third time.

'Don't do this,' she warned, catching her breath. 'V, you know you don't want to leave it here.'

'It's all I can do to prevent myself from going against everything I believe in,' he said, drinking in the sight of her glazed eyes, perspiration, reddened cheeks and crumpled clothing. 'If I'm too much of a coward to hide my face from you…how can I expect you to let me see your body?'

'Then let me see _you_.'

'That can't happen.'

'You mean you won't _let_ it happen. V, do you really think I would throw myself on to you if you revolted me?'

He gave her no answer.

Evey stood up herself, smoothed out the creases in her jeans and shirt, and rewarded him with a slight twitch of her lips. She ran a hand over the fine hair that was beginning to grow on her head, observing him with exasperation. She already felt the absence of his hands on her skin and wondered silently what would have happened, had he carried on.

V cocked his head to the side, trying to clear the air a little with a polite 'are you alright?'

She stared at him incredulously.

'Jesus, V. Why do you have to be so damn gorgeous?'

He looked at her quizzically, as though she hadn't understood the reason for him tearing himself away from her. He was trying to control his body, acting like she had had no effect on him. _But to be frank, you're a hormonal wreck at this moment in time _he thought grudgingly.

Evey seemed to somehow realise this and raised an eyebrow. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to...erm, take a cold shower.' She passed by him and let a hand brush against his chest. He raised his head to the ceiling and heaved a sigh.

He was just coming to terms with what he had refused when she called from down the corridor, 'V, you're too much of a gentleman sometimes.'

He nodded regrettably. 'Indeed I am.'

* * *

**(1) Twelfth night, Shakespeare.**


	10. Ophelia

V was sat in front of the portrait gallery. He had been there for a long time, mulling things over in his head. He had also been silent for hours now, just sitting in that high-backed armchair while Evey nervously cast a glance in his direction now and again.

He was gazing at one painting in particular. It pictured a naked young woman, her skin pale and lifeless. She was under water.

'Innocence,' V whispered suddenly. 'Such a fragile thing.'

Evey heard this and looked around in bewilderment. He had his back to her and all she could see was the faint shine of his wig. She rose from her place on the sofa and walked over to him cautiously.

A few long days had passed since V had torn himself away from her, and nothing had happened between them since. In a way she was disappointed, but she was also glad that V hadn't lost control of himself. She recalled seeing his eyes through the mask moving quickly over her face, as if he was panicked. But she couldn't stop herself: his body had become an object of lust and she knew deep down what would have happened if he had not pulled away.

She reached him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to alert him of her presence. He turned his head to look at her.

'You've been here for a while now,' she observed. 'Is something wrong?'

He seemed to consider the answer in his head, and his next words were spoken slowly.

'I'm just thinking, Evey. I often come here and keep Ophelia company.'

A perplexed expression crossed her features. 'Ophelia?'

He inclined his head towards the painting.

'Oh,' she said, running her eyes over the art. It was indeed quite beautiful. An air of loss and sadness emanated from the scene and Evey found herself appreciating the reaction the image evoked inside her. She felt both crushed and full of life, exaggerating the differences between herself and the woman beneath the water.

'What were you thinking about?' She asked, her eyes never leaving the painting. He brought a hand up to rest on the hand gripping his shoulder, entwining their fingers.

"There once was a time when meadow, grove and stream, the earth, and every common sight did seem apparelled in celestial light – the glory and the freshness of a dream.' (1) He recited the verse softly, his deep voice flowing over the words with apparent ease.

Evey tried to decipher the meaning, but to no avail. 'Which means…?'

'It means nothing, dear Eve. I merely say it because it reminds me of a time when I was naïve and not polluted by the need to avenge.'

He turned his head back to Ophelia, revelling in the calm it instilled in his mind. 'I have done the deed and ignored the call to meet my maker. What has started must be finished.'

A cold sense of dread washed over her at his words.

'I sincerely hope you're not talking about finishing what happened on November 5th.' She paused, swallowing the panic that was rising in her throat. 'I won't let you.'

'Oh heavens, no,' said V gently. 'You know I could never hurt you. I am referring to parliament, my vendetta, the future.'

He saw that Evey still didn't understand what he meant.

'I have realised that my actions over the past week or so have been quite selfish. I have not paid attention to England's progress; have ignored attempts at contacting me…or rather you, from inspector Finch…'

'Really?' Evey interrupted. He nodded guiltily.

'I apologise. I know you were not aware of this and I regret keeping it from you. I just felt that we both needed substantial time to recuperate, and other people becoming involved would not help that along.'

'You mean you wanted to have me to yourself for a while.'

V let out a small chuckle. 'You state it so bluntly! But alas, I'm discovered. I hope you find my intentions flattering rather than intrusive, because I admit to needing some time to settle down again.'

She grinned affectionately. 'Don't worry about it. I think I would've blanked Finch as well to be honest. I don't know how he'd feel though, being turned away by the great V himself.'

'Really – 'the great V?"

'Oh yes. You've become a symbol of national pride. Either that or the whole country has suddenly developed a mask fetish and refuses to take off those damn costumes.'

'I'm touched,' he said, and she could tell he meant it.

'So, are you planning a return?'

He didn't answer immediately, preferring to leave the question hanging in the air.

'I'm not quite sure,' he decided eventually. 'I could choose to either become a martyr or a living, breathing symbol. The latter would most likely please people the most, but…well, I've spent twenty years devoting my life to this cause. By all means, I shall help behind the scenes of the play but may choose not to take the role of the main character.'

Evey surveyed him. His shoulders had drooped slightly and he looked defeated in a way. She could distinctly tell that he wanted to jump back in and get involved but something was holding him back, like trying to run a marathon with a weight tied around his feet.

'V…is it me?'

He turned his head sharply to look at her.

'Evey, you are everything to me. You have seen what happens when I become engrossed, overtaken, by my vendetta. I nearly died. I think it would be terribly self-centred of me to become obsessed with this.'

'But you've already completed it! It's all over, you've done everything you possibly could and now it's time to gain your reward. This country still isn't whole. It needs a leader.'

'A leader? That's the one thing I wanted to eradicate.'

'Not a _government_ leader. A symbol of anarchism, revolution. Help them get their feet back on the ground.'

He squeezed her fingers in reply.

'You're right. But please, know one thing: I will never tear myself away from you again. Even if my involvement in this new world escalates into something consuming, you are the one person I shall look forward to seeing.'

His words struck a chord with Evey in a way she couldn't describe, even if she'd wanted to.

'I know. Just be careful, because if I lose you one more time I think I'll end up losing myself too.'

They shared a look between each other for a few seconds, before both turning their heads back to Ophelia.

'V?'

'Yes?'

'You just said that there was a time when you were naïve and didn't have your vendetta…'

'Go on.'

'What did you mean by that? I thought you couldn't remember anything before you were put in that concentration camp. Lark something.'

'Larkhill,' he said unflinchingly. 'To be frank, Evey, although I had no memories and no previous experiences to dwell on after my incarceration had ended, I was plagued by a sense of loss. The drugs slowly poisoned my mind until no scrap of my past remained, but there has always been a nagging at the back of my mind. A taster of my former life, if you will. And it infuriates me, having a recollection of once being young and innocent while being unable to fully grasp it.'

Evey felt a surge of pity for the masked man. Despite her childhood being a story of death and suffering, at least she had had one.

'Those first years of life are the years in which most truly discover themselves. I never had that chance because the young man who was imprisoned could never even remember what his own face looked like, once he had escaped those fires.'

She didn't know how to react when V talked about his past. The last time he had done so, they had almost given in to their wants and ruined the foundations of a relationship they had worked so hard on after his return. Although she had no doubt in her mind that it would have been a life changing experience, V wasn't ready. And in all honesty, she wanted the occasion to be when he could at least trust and love her enough to show his face to her.

Evey merely acknowledged what he was saying by muttering 'I understand.'

'You may understand my predicament, but neither of us will know who I used to be.'

He bowed his head for a moment of self pity which he tried to hide from Evey. He knew that with nothing to concentrate on, he would gradually decline until he was permanently in a state of depression. She was right: he needed to return to his vendetta, even though nothing was left but the rubble.

'I think it's time to call inspector Finch,' Evey said. 'And I presume he will be very pissed off.'

V smiled at her colloquialism. 'I think it is.'

* * *

'Finch?' 

'What is it?'

Eric Finch was sitting at the service counter of a dingy bar. It wasn't what he was used to, but the drinks were dirt cheap, the waitresses attractive and the atmosphere secretive. A place called The Kitty-Kat Keller.

There had been an incredible amount of paper work, phone calls and complaints streaming in over the past week, and this was his first proper break from all the needless hustle and bustle. A few futile attempts at contacting Evey Hammond had taken place with no results. Then again, slipping scribbled coded messages underneath the door that posed as an entrance to the shadow gallery didn't really count. He supposed she was mourning for the terrorist and didn't have time for the petty investigator desperate for her to emerge. She was his last hope in terms of finding a symbol for the new England and, needless to say, Finch was at the end of his wick.

This was why he answered Dominic impatiently. All he had done for seven days was work, drink coffee, and eat before grabbing a few hours of fitful sleep. He didn't feel like having to put up with a useless phone call.

'We've had contact.'

Finch straightened suddenly, spilling the contents of the shot glass which was clasped in his hand. He cursed.

'From the Hammond girl?'

'Yessir. The call came in direct to the office. How did she know that number?'

Finch grimaced, aware that he still hadn't told Dominic about his meeting with Ms. Hammond. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

'I'll explain later. Look, what did she say?'

'Something about a meeting, said you should go to the gallery or some coded shit. ASAP. Inspector, what the hell does she mean?'

Finch had paled and his next words were quiet.

'This is very important and I want your full attention.'

'You already have it.'

Meet me at The Kitty-Kat Keller as soon as possible, don't be distracted by phone calls or reports. Just get here fast.'

He hung up and turned off his phone. He wouldn't be accepting any other phone calls today. He suddenly felt a lot older, like his bones were brittle and any unneeded exertion would break him in two. He was still in shock at being invited directly to the shadow gallery, having realised that Evey's involvement could give the people a new hero to look up to and follow. It might persuade them to remove those ridiculous costumes as well, which would do them all a favour.

* * *

Dominic arrived at record time outside the bar. Darkness was falling slowly and Finch had been able to see the blue flashing light of the siren three streets away before the streamlined car had pulled up next to him on the pavement. 

Dominic leaned out of the driver's seat window, his neatly combed hair somewhat askew from pelting through the city streets with the window wound down. His young face was filled with adrenaline.

'Where to, Inspector?' He asked eagerly.

'Never you mind,' Finch snapped, pulling open the door. His assistant almost fell out, but grabbed hold of the window frame in time to stop himself.

'What's got into you?' He demanded, standing up to brush down his navy tailored suit.

'Nothing, and I'm driving.'

Dominic reluctantly left the door open for Finch and climbed into the passenger seat. Finch pulled out on to the road and drove off at a steady speed, not saying a word of explanation.

'So, where are we heading?'

The inspector sighed, knowing full well that he couldn't keep his assistant in the dark. He would find out everything from Evey Hammond herself soon enough.

'I've got about ten minutes to tell you everything. Just don't shoot me before we reach this place.'

* * *

'V, _listen! _You can't just appear at the door when I let him in. You'll shock him half to death. He's seen what you're capable of doing to a man and he thinks you're dead. He saw you on the train.'

V sighed heavily. 'I'm slightly disturbed that he came so close to shooting you. If I'd known…'

'Well, you didn't. You were on your funeral barge.'

He seemed amused by this and lifted his hands in the air as if to say 'I give up.'

'Good. Now please, I'll introduce you but not just yet. Stay out of sight for five minutes before terrifying him.'

She laid a hand on his arm; a silent thank you. 'I'm glad we're doing this.'

V reached out tenderly and rested his gloved hand against her cheek, feeling her heat even through the leather.

'If he tries to harm you…'

'He won't. But so help him God if he does, right?'

V inclined his head. 'There is no God, but all the same.' The lips of Guy Fawkes seemed to stretch into an even wider grin. His fingers caressed her face for a few more moments and then he pulled away, disappearing into a small room to her right. He left the door ajar.

Feeling emboldened by his presence, Evey stood in front of the door that acted as a main entrance to the gallery. Before long, she heard arguing voices travelling towards her.

'You did _what_?' Somebody hissed.

'You would have done the same,' replied the gravely voice she recognised as Finch. 'And stop saying that, I told you what I did and repeating yourself isn't going to undo it. Now shut up. We're here.'

There was a sharp rap on the door, but she held back a few more seconds before moving towards them. She wanted to hear what the mystery voice was saying.

'Inspector, Sutler is going to have our heads if he finds out! I can't believe you let her pull the lever, that's suicide, no matter if it was right or wrong. Oh God, this is complete bollocks. We're going to get caught meeting Evey Hammond as well, it'll be a trap…'

'Dominic,' Finch growled, 'in case you hadn't noticed, Sutler's not around. Neither is creedy. Put two and two together – if they met with V, which the bullets in the man would suggest, they're as good as dead. I'll have these tunnels searched soon and I'll bet my store of gin you'll find their bodies.'

Evey had been too busy eavesdropping to remember that she was meant to be opening the door, and another knock brought her back to her senses.

'Where the hell is she?'

A key turned in the lock and Dominic shot Finch a meaningful glance. His temples were moist with sweat and he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, his breathing erratic.

The peeling green door swung open, and there was Evey Hammond. Dominic's eyes opened slightly in shock, processing the image of this small, shaven headed, confident young woman standing in the doorway. She had changed enormously since their last meeting, where he had managed only a fleeting glimpse before she'd burned his eyes out with pepper spray. The most obvious difference was her lack of hair, but he also noticed how relaxed she looked. Her eyes bored into his as he stood there, and he realised too late that he had been staring.

Finch held out his hand and she shook it cautiously.

'I'm sorry I didn't respond to your message earlier, I was…well, I suppose you could say I was busy,' she said coolly.

'It's alright. I'm just relieved you got in touch. This is my co-worker, Dominic Stone. I believe you've met before.'

He motioned to Dominic, who also extended his hand. She took it, turning her eyes on him once more.

'I remember vividly. Hopefully we'll end on better terms this time.'

He forced a smile on to his face, noticing the small scar on her head where his gun had connected with her skull.

'I very much hope so too.'

She stepped aside to allow them entry, and motioned to the kitchen area to indicate they should sit down. Of course, their gaze passed over the shadow gallery in awe, admiring the controversial artwork and artefacts that decorated the room. Dominic especially seemed out of his depth, and even as he sat down at the kitchen table his lips were a little parted in reverence.

However, Evey's nerves were on edge. She hadn't been expecting Finch to bring Dominic at all, and didn't know how V would react to him being here. After all, he had been physically violent towards her and she was aware of how protective he'd become.

She stayed standing while the two men sat, just in case she suddenly needed to introduce V.

Finch broke the silence. 'How are you holding up?'

She looked at him, confused. 'How am I…?' It hit her like a tonne of bricks: she'd actually forgotten – he didn't know V was still alive. He thought she was still mourning.

'…Oh, yes. It's strange here without him but I still can't believe he's gone. I think I'm just waiting for it to really sink in.'

Finch raised his eyebrow at her unaffected answer. She had definitely improved dramatically over the past week.

'Would you gentlemen like a cup of tea? She asked quickly, desperately trying to draw attention away from her mistake. They both murmured 'yes please' and she turned her back on them, pulling out teabags from drawers and placing them in cups.

'I heard you both talking outside the door,' she said nonchalantly. Finch kicked Dominic swiftly underneath the table and he grunted in pain.

'Seems to me you don't think he made the right choice by letting me pull the lever.'

She had turned around now and was looking intently at Dominic. He felt ridiculously threatened by this woman and he wondered why. There was just an atmosphere about her that warned him not to step out of line.

'That's not entirely true. It was just my initial reaction…I'm sorry, you weren't meant to hear that.'

Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. 'So, what would _you_ have done?'

He struggled for words, even looked at Finch for help. He gained none. Instead, his shoulders fell and he met her eye carefully.

'I don't know to be honest, Ms. Hammond. Although I certainly wouldn't have shot you. I think I would have let you go ahead.'

'Good for you.' Any scepticism in her voice had disappeared and he visibly relaxed.

But then her eyes travelled to a door behind him, across the gallery, and she said, 'I think you may have just saved yourself from considerable danger.'

Evey moved to the foot of the table so that she stood facing Dominic's back. However, Finch was straight in front of her and had a clear view of the gallery. He wondered what on earth she was talking about. Maybe she was trying to frighten Dominic? It had certainly worked even if it wasn't her intention: his face was as white as a sheet.

'Danger?' He repeated nervously. He was aware of Evey behind him but didn't turn around. Her hand was on the back of his chair and it made him alert. His right hand slowly moved to clutch the handle of the gun in his holster. His palms were sweating.

'Yes,' she said. 'And Mr Stone, It's not a very clever idea to reach for that gun,' she added softly.

He froze, and then pulled it out from his jacket, preparing to turn around and face her. It had been a trap all along! To hell with 'no danger', he was panicked and his gun was the only thing that helped him out in these situations.

But the look on Finch's face made him stop short: his mouth had actually fallen open in utter disbelief and his hands were gripping the edge of the table. He looked at Dominic, his voice shaking a little.

'Dominic, you fool. Drop your gun.'

He head never seen him show fear before but this was real. Dominic was petrified. His mind was just processing what Finch had ordered him to do: dropping your only weapon was never an option when under threat. He should know that from training.

'V, no!'

Evey's scream made him release the gun. It clattered on to the floor next to his chair and the only thing he could feel was the prick of the knife that had connected with the back of his neck. It had only just drawn blood but a trickle of warmth inched down his neck. A centimetre more and he would have been paralysed.

He scrambled up from his chair and rose to his feet. The masked man was standing before him, and every inch of his body emanated a furious energy. He was behind the chair Dominic had been sitting in a moment ago, knife still extended. A few millimetres of crimson graced the tip of the cold steel, shining in the bright lights of the kitchen. He looked at the mask itself and instantly knew he had made a mistake. The black eye slits were looking straight at him. No, _through_ him. That empty gaze chilled him to his very core.

V was so very tall and his anger made him even more intimidating than their last confrontation. He knew he would be a dead man by now had Evey not stopped him.

Dominic turned to Finch who was just as speechless. He had stood up as well without him realising, his weapon already laid down on the table in front of him.

Evey sighed. 'V, put the knife away.'

He turned to her and all the tension in his stance evaporated.

'I told you it wasn't a good choice to surprise him like this,' he murmured.

Finch and Dominic shared glances: it was definitely him. They could tell from his voice – it was certainly the same man who had spoken in the public broadcast at Jordan Tower.

'I didn't know you were planning on killing one of them, did I?' She exclaimed.

And to their amazement, V obeyed. He slid the knife back into the belt around his waist. It stayed there and is hands remained empty. Evey silently thanked him with her eyes before looking back to their guests.

Dominic was still jumpy, and still unsettlingly within V's reach. The terrorist addressed him directly now, the coldness of his voice disconcerting.

'Why are you here?' was all he said. Finch stepped in to defend his assistant, despite being tempted to throttle him himself.

'I apologise, that was my fault. I thought it was just Evey here.'

'So, that gives you the right to invite a madman into her home?'

She detected the anger creeping into V's voice and stepped in front of him, drawing his eyes to her face. He looked down at her, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. She had grabbed his shoulders with both hands and whispered something they could not hear. They saw him place a hand on her waist, and that gesture alone was enough to confirm both of their suspicions. They were clearly more than captor and prisoner.

V nodded at Evey and they both faced Finch.

'There was a reason you were invited here tonight.' Her voice was steady and she spoke in a monotone, hiding whatever emotions she may be feeling towards them. 'You're obviously wondering how V is even here, but that can come some other time. What you really need to know is that we both want to give you assistance.'

'Symbols mean a lot to people,' V added. 'Parliament was one of them, but people can rebuild from rubble. This isn't over yet.'

Finch was stunned to say the least. After his wishes of having Evey to use as a symbol, now he had V. The man who had started it all…and with the both of them together? The possibilities were endless.

'Thank you so much for this opportunity. I can't begin to express how helpful this will be…of course, your personal space will be respected,' he reassured them, glancing at the tainted steel that glinted at V's waist, 'but the benefits will be phenomenal.'

V had crossed his arms. He still looked at Dominic with something close to resentment but his fury was fading now. The man looked exhausted and frightened out of his mind, still refusing to take his eyes off of V in case he tried something else.

Finch knew there was nothing more to say. Dominic had well and truly ruined their introduction to V, and the ideal thing to do at this moment in time was to leave as quickly as possible. Evey seemed to be urging him out of the door, and even though she was a head shorter than V, she emitted almost as much power.

'We'll be going now,' Finch said. 'Dominic, come on.'

They headed towards the door, and when Dominic made to turn back for his gun Finch grabbed his arm. 'Leave it,' he warned.

His assistant looked at V but he made no move to hand him the weapon. Defeated, he shrugged Finch's grip form his arm and walked to the doorway.

However, Finch hung back. 'I am so sorry about this,' he said sincerely, speaking straight to V. 'I never knew he would have reacted in this way…just, thank you. For everything, and for not killing him. I would have been tempted myself in your position. He doesn't know what he's doing.' The mask tilted to one side, in his usual polite manner of showing he was paying attention.

Finch extended his arm, not expecting a handshake but hoping to leave respectively. However, to his surprise V walked forward and grasped his hand. Finch couldn't help feeling that this simple civil tradition represented something else, and V seemed to know that too. In fact, it seemed like he had only shaken his hand to create another symbol. This man was like a human riddle: all of his actions were hard to read when looked at separately, but when they all came together the puzzle suddenly fit. And now Finch understood: he was the government, V was anarchy. As they shook hands, a wordless treaty was made.

'Goodbye Mr Finch. Contact us when we're needed.'

He nodded, let go of the terrorist's hand and then walked out of the gallery with Dominic at his heels.

'He's a madman!' He raged, once they were safely on the street and out of earshot.

'He's a genius,' Finch contradicted. 'And what's more, I hope you don't put Evey in danger again now that you know V's around. The poor bastard's in love.'

* * *

**(1) Ode, William Wordsworth.**


	11. Victimise

Television used to be one of Norsefire's most prized possessions. It gave humans the ability to manipulate others without laying a finger on innocent skin. Not that morality or guilt stopped them the rest of the time, but there were not enough bullets for the whole population as of yet. Sutler had usually made a broadcast at twelve O'clock sharp, giving Great Britain its daily supply of military and government approved bullshit, but now that ten minute gap between re-runs of Deitrich's programme and the news was noticeably empty. The whole nation became aware of this after a few days of liberation and wondered just where the tyrant was. It was unaccustomed for him to ever leave the twelve O'clock broadcast…in fact, he had never failed to send out the daily message of intolerance and bigotry in the past. Until now, they had never realised how much they had depended upon it. They were being told that they were right, that reporting the two men living together next door, the woman who walked outside their window after curfew one night, the man who lay huddled in the shadows with his whiskey bottle and busking guitar, was showing them to be decent citizens. They never saw those people again, but Sutler told them it was alright; that they had been entered for a programme that helped introduce them back into society. So it was expected, and those people felt proud that they had helped their country. Yes, the noon broadcast helped them to justify their actions.

But now the television was blank for ten minutes, and then the news blinked on to the screen after a short space of blackness. The news reporters never blinked anymore, which was strange. It seemed like a grave expression had been carved into their faces, and much of the television time was taken up by a simple scroll menu with the latest news. It was updated every few hours.

V had watched this scroll menu continually since Finch's visit, his eyes flicking over the screen quickly, taking in all the breaking news and then formulating an impression of England's current social and economic state. He sat on that sofa for roughly an hour before getting up for a while, going about whatever his daily routines were, and then returning when the television bleeped, indicating an update.

_Another three main brand stores have been attacked and looted on Oxford Street…_

_Crowds of people have been gathering around the ruins of parliament and have been petitioning for the appearance of the terrorist named V…_

_Pub hours have lengthened after the curfew lift and prohibition has collapsed…_

He sighed deeply into his hands, his head bowed slightly. The people were not getting the message yet. It was time to take some action and make a public appearance, but Finch had not contacted him since their meeting a number of days ago. He was at a loss now that the power had been taken out of his hands but he _had_ to do something. V had spent an excess amount of time simply getting back to a normal routine and basking in the love Evey had given him. He was acting too much like a human being, giving into his wants rather than his needs. Of course, he loved Evey with all his heart but he was being forced to fall back into the reality that he was just an idea to England, not a man. He was a man in the shadow gallery; he was an idea in the real world. And he needed to get involved in one way or another else he would drive himself crazy cooped up in here.

'V?'

He turned around to see Evey leaning in the archway, watching him. Her arms were crossed across her chest and to his surprise, she had donned the silk black shirt of his that she had been wearing the night he came back to the gallery. His face coloured immediately when he realised she had nothing but a pair of cotton red hot pants on underneath.

She detected his eyes drifting down to her midriff and grinned. 'Relax, they're just pyjamas. I'm not going to try and seduce you just yet.'

_Just yet?_

It was around eleven O'clock at night and the lights had automatically dimmed, detecting the lack of light outside. Unfortunately for V, this cast a warm glow over Evey's features and the light slipped over her figure, boldly highlighting every curve and soft contour of her body. He groaned internally.

She walked over, climbed the top of the sofa and landed next to him with a little _whumph. _He inclined his head in greeting, as he hadn't seen her for a couple of hours. He sometimes wondered how she managed to entertain herself for such a long time while he made preparations. Of course, the gallery had many forms of activity but they all centred on culture. He had never known that a young woman of Evey's age could find artwork and books so interesting.

'You're still watching the news.' It wasn't a question, just a casual comment, but he picked up on the element of disappointment in her voice.

'I'm sorry, Evey,' said V gently. 'I know this may be tiresome but I did warn you. However, I won't be spending all my time here. I'm determined to keep you involved in my life.'

She nodded, a smile adorning her lips. 'I don't mean to pressure you though, and I don't want to force you to spend time with me if it could be better spent…after all, I shouldn't be the priority right now.'

He seemed to consider this for a moment, his fingers stroking his false chin as if the black goatee were real.

'I disagree,' he stated bluntly. 'You _are_ my priority and I intend to keep it that way.'

V started to reach out, faltered once, and then placed a hand near her shoulder, in the crook of her neck. This intimate gesture pleased her and she realised he was trying to convince her that his words were the truth.

'Don't ever think that you come second again.'

She closed her eyes, taking in the scent of the leather on her skin and the feel of the silk shirt. God, it was an intoxicating mixture. She had half a mind to continue where they left off but restrained herself, aware that it wasn't the time or the place.

V, oblivious as to what thoughts were circulating in her mind, removed his hand and placed it back in his lap. Evey immediately missed the small absence but kept quiet, settling on spearing him with a glazed look.

He continued regardless. 'I've been thinking now that I can do more than simply sit here all day and watch what's happening. I need to get involved again, to go out and stop all this myself. Obviously I don't expect to change a lot, but if I make sure some people catch a glimpse of me then at least some rumours might start to form and I can get back into the public spotlight.'

'You never left!' Evey intervened. 'And how exactly do you plan on making people realise it's you? Half the population is still dressed up in those costumes. They're going into _work_ with the bloody masks you gave them. If you appear amongst them and say you're the real thing then they'll either think you're a con sent out by what's left of the government, or just another person in fancy dress.'

'Oh, I don't think so,' he said slyly. 'After all, why would a man in fancy dress be seen with the infamous Evey Hammond?'

She looked at him blankly.

'Also, forgive me for stating this so immodestly, but I doubt a man in fancy dress could detach a whole group of criminals. Or whatever type of vandals are ruling the streets these days.' He added.

She tried to comprehend what he was saying. 'So…you want me to come with you?'

'Indeed,' he replied. 'Evey, you've been in the news almost as much as I have. I've seen it over the past few days. People are taking turns to wonder which one of us is alive before going back to the other…Sutler made a huge mistake in making you so publicised. I believe Finch probably advised him against doing this exact thing but the man was never a genius when it came to considering the future. He only ever cared about the present and who he could kill.'

She nodded, stunned. 'But what do you want to do?'

He thought about this for a moment. 'Just stay with me. I will venture outside some time soon, and hopefully people will catch a glimpse of us together. People talk fast and the word will spread like wildfire. All we have to do is prove that we are authentic without saying it outright. If we do this, there will be a demand for our appearance and so when we eventually show ourselves there will be no questions asked.'

'I see,' said Evey. 'But you mentioned violence somewhere…'

'Ah.' Here was the tricky part. 'I know you made it clear that you would never assist me in harming another human being…'

'And I won't!' She was indignant now, aware of what he was about to suggest.

'…but how else will they know it is me?' He chose his words carefully, and she knew that he was right despite not wanting to admit it. The man was always right.

'They'll see me with you!'

He fixed her with a stern look as she finished lamely, 'isn't that enough?'

'No,' he replied. V's mask tilted and his hand found hers once more. 'Evey, please, just listen to me. I promise I won't kill anyone…there would be no point, since our aim is to generate witnesses. But I understand that you might see some things that will disturb you.'

She'd suddenly grown cold. She knew what V could do to someone and predicted that he could also get carried away. Then again, she'd only ever seen him fight once. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. His body was so toned and muscular, his arm movements smooth and calculated even when he was walking. His everyday stance could be seen as a fighter's stance, ready to launch into action. She couldn't even begin to imagine how deadly he could be…even by eavesdropping on Finch and Dominic's conversation she had gathered that V had slaughtered Sutler and Creedy, and they never went anywhere without a flank of bodyguards and trained fingermen. That meant that he'd managed to survive being pummelled by bullets and still maintained the bloodlust needed to kill. He was a different man when he was fighting.

During these thoughts, it didn't occur to Evey that V may very well have had something to do with the death of the fingerman who had attacked her the night she had gone to the ruins of parliament. The memory of seeing that particular news broadcast had faded long ago.

On the other hand, she remembered being flung against the wall of her prison cell with incredible force, being winded beyond agony. Crying out in the middle of the night as he slammed her head into a bowl of freezing water, holding her there until she didn't have the energy to thrash any longer.

'I don't know,' she sighed. 'I'm afraid it would make me think differently of you.'

V was hurt by this although he didn't show it. He hung his head for a minute or two and then said, 'would you hate me?'

Evey looked up quickly, disbelief on her face. 'Jesus, no! I just don't want to be…I just don't want to be scared of you.'

He gave her a hard look. 'You know I could never hurt you again.'

His words hit the nail on the head, and she knew he'd sensed what she was thinking. Evey understood now: violence was sometimes necessary if progress was to be made. She wished things could be different, but they weren't. They still resided in a harsh world and she had to lose the naivety or lose her mind.

'Don't kill anyone,' she whispered.

He felt a pang of sympathy, knowing that she would hate every minute of what was to come. So V leant forward, his arms open a little to offer whatever comfort he could. Evey gratefully accepted his embrace and slid into his arms, and they wrapped tightly around her small frame. Her head rested on his chest, and she was soothed by the methodical pound of his heartbeat. She felt him lower his head and lean the chin of the mask on her neck. She could have sworn he was breathing her in. His hands clutched her a bit firmer to him. Evey realised that she'd been holding her breath and exhaled, her muscles instantly relaxing.

'I'm sorry for doing this to you.' His voice travelled through her because he was so close, and she trembled at the feeling it awoke in her.

'I don't mind.' Her tone was so soft that he had to lean in even closer to hear it. The soft hair of his wig brushed across her face and she took a deep breath, drinking in his scent. It comforted her in a way she hadn't thought was possible, and any hindrance she might have had about the task ahead was gone.

'Just…just be careful, V. Don't hurt anyone more than you have to.'

She raised her head slightly, surprised to find the mask right in front of her. Their noses were touching.

'I won't,' he promised. 'For your sake. But I can at least assure you that the people I choose will be no innocents.'

She smiled and leant forwards so that her lips were almost touching Guy Fawke's. V inhaled sharply, expecting her to have mistaken his original intentions when he had embraced her, but she didn't. She merely wanted to feel his breath against her face, to prove he was still there and still on her side. Evey looked into the dark slits of the mask and once again saw his eyes. She couldn't tell what colour they were but they looked beautiful from her position. And they weren't scanning her face like a book, just calmly meeting her gaze.

'The eyes are the window to the soul,' she said quietly, and he realised she could see his. He looked away but that wouldn't help: she was too close and she grinned at his shyness.

'Folklore,' he murmured, closing his eyes. She saw this.

'Oh, I don't think so. What I saw was pretty amazing.'

He felt a pressure on the mask and his eyes flew open, revelling in the feel of her kiss even though he couldn't meet her lips with his own. She pulled back, tracing the contours of the porcelain with a delicate finger.

'I knew that would make you open your eyes again.'

* * *

A couple of days passed.

Evey was on the edge of her seat constantly, aware that V was going to ask her to accompany him outside at any time. She could tell it would be soon because he was spending his every minute glued to that TV screen, and the crashes and clashes of sword against metal issued from the main area more often. He must be fighting that knight again.

She stayed out of his way when he did this, because even though she found amusement in V's pirouetting and graceful fencing techniques, it reminded her that it wouldn't be just practice in the near future. She was still coming to terms with the fact that she'd agreed to follow him on this little adventure, to witness him cutting and slicing his way through a group of clueless brutes. It wouldn't be so bad if they were fingermen, but fingermen weren't _around_ anymore. They had all ran away from the hordes of people hunting for them or dissolved into nothingness, probably trying to integrate back into everyone else's society, to mix with the people they had once terrorized and murdered.

Another metallic shriek of metal skidding across metal, and she pictured it being human flesh instead. Evey shuddered. She'd had enough.

She burst out of her room where she'd been trying to concentrate on a book and travelled down the corridor at a fast pace, determined to at least stop the racket. However, once she was about to turn the corner, she caught a glimpse of V and stopped in her tracks, moving out of his eye line to silently peek out from behind the frame of a painting.

He wasn't using his fencing sword as she had presumed. Instead, he had stopped fighting and was absent-mindedly running the razor sharp edge of a dagger across the knight's arm. The sound had the same effect as running fingernails down a blackboard. V halted suddenly; looked around. Evey drew further behind the painting.

When he seemed to be satisfied that she wasn't there, he picked the suit of armour up from the base around its feet and carried it over to the side of the room, where it was usually kept. She saw his back and arm muscles strain and knew that it was exceedingly heavy.

He stood up from his bent position and brushed his hands together, ridding them of dust. The leather squeaked. He then made a beeline straight towards Evey and she inhaled, not even sure why she was hiding from him but trusting her instincts all the same. Luckily, he made a turn shortly before he reached her and disappeared into the door to her right. She had never been in there herself, since she'd never had a reason to and it seemed like a darkly lit closet to the naked eye. She heard him fumbling around in there, moving instruments, muttering to himself, and when he found what he was obviously looking for the noises stopped.

Evey watched him carry a human shaped doll from the closet. It was disturbing, the characteristics it bore to a normal person. It was slightly stout but everything else looked unerringly realistic. The dummy even had a mop of thick brown hair and facial features, and V had been meticulous enough to dress it in fingerman uniform.

He placed it in the middle of the room; cast a quick glance around again. Then he attached the belt of knives around his trim middle and stood to attention. There was no hilarious commentary this time, no fancy movements from an outdated film. The black eye slits of the mask concentrated on the face of the dummy for a split second, and then the dagger was whipped from his belt and embedded in the overly pink forehead. Evey clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent her gasp from being heard. V looked down at his hands, muttered, 'too much to the left…' and unceremoniously yanked the six inch length of steel out from the dummy's head.

This time he didn't throw from a distance. He circled his prey, calculating which way it would move if its limbs were alive. The dagger came out again and slipped easily across the neck, tearing a great gash into the fabric. He did this from behind, so fast that Evey almost missed it as she blinked. Then the blade was everywhere, slashing right and left, until the dummy's torso was in ribbons and its clothes hanging off its body. She wondered just how many dummies he must have, because this one was beyond repair.

Eventually V stopped his assault, kicking the dummy to the floor with a precise boot to the head. It fell immediately and he stepped over it, titling his head to survey the damage. Satisfied, he grabbed it roughly by the hair and disappeared into the closet, dragging the shredded legs behind him.

Evey leant her head against the wall and expelled the breath she had been holding in for what seemed like the last five minutes. Her eyes were screwed shut.

* * *

She was sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed neatly in front of her with a copy of Jane Eyre resting in her lap, when he came over to her. He planted his hands on either side of her head behind the sofa, looking over her shoulder.

'Ah, Jane Eyre. Wonderful choice.'

She looked backwards, the mask coming into view upside down. 'V, why was this banned? It's not remotely suggestive of anything the government would be opposed to.'

'The simplest thing,' he said slowly. 'At the beginning of the novel, Jane indirectly questions religion. Something Sutler was determined to wipe out: questioning the aspects of life one needed to live in his society.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'My god, I looked straight past that. It seems like nothing.'

'Evey, the fact that you are referring to God in that context proves his point. For one, you are saying the Lord's name in vain. Two, that is often seen as blasphemy despite your motives being unintentional.'

'You can tell I'd have my head in a black bag right now.'

He smiled. 'Religion was made to control. By all means, let it be a free choice…but do not force it upon those who cannot believe.' He studied her face. 'It may seem like naivety to put your faith in one religion in the hope you will escape death, but all the same, I assume it must be a comforting thought.'

'I gave up on it a long time ago.' Evey shrugged a shoulder, then turned around to face him, kneeling on the sofa with her chin resting on her arms.

'V, there's something I want to ask you. A big favour.'

'I have something to ask of you as well…' the warning in his voice was detectable and she knew what was coming.

'You want to go out tonight, don't you?'

He paused for a second before responding, and then nodded his head like it took weeks of deliberation to reach that one conclusion.

'Well…I don't want you to use knives.'

She saw him jerk back a little, and his fingers twitched impulsively as though the word 'knives' had set off a reflex. He couldn't understand why ever she would want him to walk the streets with her unarmed.

'What's brought this on?'

She sighed, looking away from his mask because he was only making this harder. 'I saw you fighting the other night. You took out a dummy from the closet,' she made a vague sweeping motion to the door across the room, 'and sliced it to bits. I don't want you doing that to a human being for my sake.'

'Evey, you don't understand. How am I meant to defend myself?'

_Ah, I see what you're doing_, she thought. _You're bringing yourself into this to make it harder for me to say no._

'You're perfectly good at defending yourself on your own! You don't need knives, you bare hands are enough to tear someone to pieces if you wanted to.'

'If I can do the same amount of damage with my hands as I can with knives, how is there an issue?'

'Just _please._'

He paused, looked at her. He hated the idea of taking her into a dangerous environment with no weapons, but what choice did he have?

'Is there any possibility of you being persuaded otherwise, or shall we reach a compromise?' He gave in quickly, hoping he still had the upper hand.

'Really? You don't mind?'

'I wouldn't go so far as to say I don't mind, but if it pleases my lady…'

Evey grinned.

'…However, I will have to bring weapons with me. I promise not to use them but I will not drag you into a fight with nothing to defend you with.'

Evey's face fell, knowing those knives would be coming out that night.

V bent down so that his face was level with hers, tipping her chin up with a gentle hand. 'Evey, listen. I will never let anybody harm you. If that includes having to shed blood, then so be it. But I give you my most solemn promise that I will do all I can to prevent the ground being bloodstained tonight.'

She closed her eyes for a second, relived.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'It's just after I've seen so much already…I don't want anyone to suffer for me'

'And they will not,' he assured her. 'I need you for this, nothing more. Please.'

She blinked, nodded slightly, and then rose from the sofa. 'OK. Just one more thing.'

'Yes?'

'How the hell are we going to find a group of people who deserve what they'll be getting?'

V smirked beneath the painted smile.

'Oh, I don't think it will be as difficult as you assume.'

* * *

Charlie wasn't exactly the neighbourhood thug, but he considered himself good enough for that position.

He stood in front of the smudged mirror in the bathroom, greasing a streak of mousy blonde hair back from his forehead. He licked a finger and rubbed the swollen piercing on his left ear, the one that had broken the cartilage. He was slightly unshaven, the fair hair on his chin slowly maturing into darker stubble. His eyes were a muddy brown, slightly fogged over and bloodshot from numerous parties and drink binges. He wore a tracksuit, a pack of cigarettes bulging from the front pocket.

There came a furious banging on the door.

'Get out there, ya fat sod.'

He grunted, ran a chunky hand through his hair one more time, and then pulled the door open.

Two slightly shrunken looking men stood there, one holding a smoking cigarette. The other clutched a can of cider, chugging it occasionally when he thought people were watching him. His eyes flashed from side to side.

The smoker lowered the cigarette and talked in a slow drawl. 'We're all outside mate. What the fuck took you so long?'

'Nothin'.

'Whatever, Dave says you pissed him off again.'

Charlie spat on the floor and shoved past the two men, starting down the staircase from the top flat. He concentrated on what Smoker was saying as he ran down the steps, one foot after the other, staircase after staircase.

'He reckons you got with his bird Carol the other night at the Keller.'

'Bullshit.'

'Well he don't reckon so, Carol told him and all.'

Charlie stopped, turning around to face Smoker. 'Carol's some bitch he picked up last week, I ain't having nothin' to do with her. She's just making up BS so I get battered.'

He carried on down the steps, face slightly red. 'He got no business startin' on me.'

They reached the last step, turned a corner and joined a group of around ten other men. Charlie took care not to have eye contact with Dave, who was standing a few feet away. His thick brown hair curled at his ears and around the nape of his neck, and he stank of sweat and men's cologne. He was well built, wearing a pair of scuffed jeans and paint splattered white t shirt. He didn't seem to realise he was there, and Smoker and Cider flanked Charlie so that he was hidden from view as they made their way down the wide street.

The air was chilly and a half moon peeked out from behind a boarded up warehouse. The street already seemed incredibly dark in this area, as the streetlights still only glowed slightly. Half of the bulbs were flickering or smashed.

Charlie walked down the street, silently trying to quiet the anxious thoughts spinning around in his mind. He always managed to get into these situations where he was forced to hide behind others in order to protect himself. He kicked a coke can away form him, venting his frustration.

They turned a corner, swearing and laughing to the dismay of the surrounding houses. Dave had grabbed someone in a playful headlock and was just apologising with a slap on the back when he saw Charlie at the back of the group. He let go of the man and turned around, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

'What we go here then?'

Charlie froze in his tracks, caught off guard. Dave was standing stock still, facing him. Red alarm lights were spinning around inside his head and his fists automatically clenched at his sides. Perspiration started to form at his hairline.

'Nothin', Dave. I did nothin' to Carol.'

'That ain't what I'm pissed at, mate. I wouldn't give a shit if you shagged her.' He walked up to Charlie, his eyes on his face the entire time. The group was standing still around them, their hot breath steaming up in front of eight suddenly sweating faces.

'Still another guy's bitch. It's principle, see?'

Charlie stepped around him slightly, and Dave laughed in his face. 'Planning on running away? Cocky bastard.' He moved closer, crossing his arms. Charlie realised with an internal groan that Dave was so well built they hardly folded over his barrel of a chest.

'I never took a step near Carol, she's making it up mate.'

Dave's eyes flashed. 'You sayin' she's lying?'

'Yeah!'

A fist swung at Charlie and smashed into his jaw. His tooth cracked under the impact and he screamed, the sound echoing across the rooftops of the surrounding buildings.

'Fuckin' twat, what the hell's that for!'

He regretted the words as soon as they'd been torn out of his mouth. Dave wiped his hand on his grubby shirt, spots of blood rubbing off on to the material. Charlie was standing there with his hand clutched over his mouth and the group of men was baying and hollering around them. Even Smoker and Cider had joined in.

'What you just call me?' Dave started again, taking another step closer. His chest was heaving and adrenaline thudded through his veins. He was on fire tonight.

Charlie didn't know what to do. He was faced with the choice of either staying there to be beaten to a pulp, although that would possibly keep his reputation intact slightly more than running away. But he didn't want to face this tonight and he hadn't done anything to deserve it this time.

He spat in Dave's face. The group instantly shut up and gawped, eyes wide and mouths open. Cigarette smoke and heat seemed to emanate from the gang, and windows around them were starting to open. People peered out in apparent interest.

And then he ran, bursting out of the confines of the group and haring down the street. Dave dragged a hand over his handsome face and then set off after him, his footsteps beating down on the ground twice as fast as Charlie's. The men yelled after the chase and started to follow, jogging down the wide street, every shoe beat on the pavement accelerating at the same pace of their hearts.

Charlie was running for his life and he knew it. All of his energy was focused on shifting his legs forwards and away from the footsteps pounding the concrete behind him. He tore past a number of derelict warehouses, his breath misting up in front of his face. His legs ached and screamed at him but he didn't care. His arms pumped frantically by his side and he realised he was sobbing as he sprinted down the street, petrified of what would surely come.

He suddenly burst out on to a much more open street. People were even packing up market stalls despite the oncoming darkness, but it was well lit here and faces stared at him as he dashed down the centre of the road. His breath was barely tearing out of his chest and he felt like he would collapse at any second. He cast a glance behind his shoulder and saw Dave emerge just after he had, and let out a haggard groan. He slowed, knowing he had already lost this fight.

A tremendous weight barrelled into his side and he was instantly winded, thrown down on to the cobbles with an audible smack. The rugby tackle drove Dave's shoulder into the soft skin of his stomach and he choked out a cough, spitting blood on to the ground.

People around them instantly picked up on what was happening and crowded around. Only a small space was left in the slow ring that was forming, and that was at the mouth of a dark alleyway. No one stood in front of it in case one of them needed to make a quick escape.

Dave clambered on to Charlie's back, driving a knee into his spine. He roared in pain but not before Dave grabbed a fistful of his carefully plastered hair and yanked his head back. Tears and dirt were streaking down his face now, and he looked up at the sky. The moon was now cloaked in velvety darkness and the night had fast descended on to the street. However, he only saw this view for a second before a hand slapped across his face.

'You twat! No one speaks to me like that! You hear!' Another slap.

Yells were issuing from everywhere around them but Dave drove his knee in further despite the complaints, holding no pity.

'Don't care if you did nothin' to my bird, you still a bastard!'

A fist slammed into Charlie's cheek and his head fell back to the floor.

'Two spent swimmers, that do cling together and choke their art…'(1)

Dave's fist was raised, his eyes glaring and wild with anger, but the strange voice still managed to stop him in his tracks. It was deep, all encompassing, and issued from the black mouth of the alleyway. He swore he recognised it from somewhere, and strangely enough, most of the faces in the crowd frowned as if they were trying to remember where they'd heard it form.

The pressure of his knee on his victim's back released a little and the assorted gathering of people all turned their heads, to peer into the blackness. For a second no one emerged, and then a polished boot stepped out from the shadows. Nothing else was visible.

'Fuck off man, he's mine!'

The rest of Dave's gang sprinted round the corner and gleeful expressions crossed their faces as they realised what was happening. However, when they caught sight of the two fighters frozen still in the middle of the circle they detected something was wrong. Their eyes followed everyone else's to the gaping alleyway. Silently, they joined the throng. Anticipation electrified the air.

'But all's too weak for brave Macbeth…well he deserves that name…'

A gasp echoed around the walls. The man had stepped out of the shadows, and everyone realised at once that he was wearing one of those Guy Fawkes costumes V had sent out. But there was something different about this man. He was so tall, incredibly imposing, and his clothes were blatantly not made from the cheap cotton of the hand out costumes. Real leather crunched quietly underneath his feet as he stood there on the cobbles, and a gloved hand emerged from beneath the billowing cloak. He lifted his head to show the mask they knew would be there and it gleamed in the streetlights. The wig was immaculate and something about the figure told them this wasn't the average V obsessed impostor. Even his movements seemed fluid and calculated. His feet stood wide apart and the cloak opened a little, revealing a tunic and britches…and the long, sharp length of a knife.

He removed the Jacobean hat from his head and someone stepped out of the darkness next to him, holding out their hands to hold it for him. With further surprise, the onlookers drank in the sight of the beautiful woman with the shaved head. She looked tiny compared to the man, barely reaching his shoulder, but her eyes shone with a strength they had never seen before. She was dressed in dark clothes, and when she turned her face fully into the light a number of onlookers inhaled sharply.

'Bloody hell…'

'Oh shit, take the kids back inside, _now…_'

Someone yelled above all the muttering. 'It's Evey Hammond!'

Another voice shouted, 'V's accomplice!'

And then it dawned on them, as though they had all simultaneously been hit over the head by some invisible force. No one said it but everyone thought it: that man wasn't any man. It was V, and it was all suddenly so obvious. Lips that were about to cry out or holler shut abruptly. Oh yes, they all knew how they recognised that voice now. It had spoken from their television screens a year ago.

Dave's face wasn't wild with fury anymore, it was white. Charlie lay gasping underneath his grasp, his eyes tilted a little. He watched a pair of boots walk forwards until they were in front of his face, and they were so polished they reflected his pained expression in the toe.

Evey had stood back, and watched silently as V stepped towards the shaking men. It was quite a horrible sight really, and she was suddenly relieved that she'd demanded against the use of knives. He still had them on his person but he wouldn't break his vow unless it was absolutely necessary. However, she could see even from here his hands were aching to pull the dagger out from the belt. She just hoped the attacker wouldn't do anything stupid.

'Like valour's minion carved out his passage…'

V's voice actually sent a chill down her spine. She hadn't heard it since their first meeting, when he'd dispatched a group of fingermen intent on exercising their 'prerogative'. This voice was a low growl, one that warned of danger. Along with the quotes, she could tell V was enjoying terrifying this pathetic little man just by using his voice to real effect.

'…Till he faced the slave.'

Now he stood towering above him and Dave's hands tightened on Charlie's hair. He didn't seem to realise who the man real was, because a hardened look passed across his face and he stood up, placing a foot on to the gasping man's back.

'This ain't your fight, now fuck off.'

Everyone groaned, Evey more than most. One thing V could not tolerate was bad manners and language, at least when used in a hostile way. His mask tipped up from where his eyes had been resting on Charlie and he cocked his head to one side, fixing Dave with a cold stare.

Finally, after a minute of staring each other out, V spoke again. This time it wasn't in riddles.

'Take your foot off this man's back.' The anger was obvious, despite it being hidden behind a polite demeanour. Dave sneered in his face.

'Make me, you daft tosser.' He enunciated each word carefully, leaning forward until his face almost touched Guy Fawkes'. V spoke quietly enough so that only he could hear.

'Oh, I intend to.'

Evey flinched before the blow was even delivered.

V stepped back for a brief moment, and for a millisecond Dave thought he had won. But then a lightening swift hand grasped his shin in a vice like grip, and drew back to the effect that Dave collapsed hard on to the cobbles and lay at V's feet, his right leg that had been holding Charlie down now gripped by that leather glove. V was holding his foot high in the air so that he could only thrash around from the waist down, his other leg flailing comically.

Amazingly, V let go. Although Evey knew his intention was to get the man up and ready to fight, unfortunately the red mist had descended over Dave's vision and all he could see was the smiling face in front of him. He didn't care what V did and didn't want him to do, he just wanted to break this sorry son-of-a-bitch in half.

No one had ever seen a fight like this before. V moved so fast they almost couldn't make out what he was doing. A second ago he had been holding the six foot two man by the leg, and now he was facing him again. They knew he couldn't have broken free but they wondered why he had let him go as well.

Charlie was struggling for breath but managed to scramble backwards into the crowd, where an elderly woman promptly grabbed him and scrubbed at the blood on his face.

'That's the real one,' she whispered, helping him to his feet. 'That guy's gonna get decapitated I reckon. Amazing how fast he moved, you didn't see it 'cause you was on the ground.'

Charlie looked at them. Dave was circling the masked man but V stood still. They looked about the same height but the man in costume looked more solidly built beneath the cloak. He merely stood there, watching the sweating man inch around him, turning his head ever so slightly in the direction Dave moved.

'Gives me the chills, it does.'

He hushed the old woman, revelling in the mounting tension. Dave was about to get what he deserved and he wanted to glory in every single moment of it.

Dave lunged forward with his fist but V's body shot backwards and repelled the blow with what seemed like a tap on the wrist. It must have been harder than it seemed though, for Dave clutched his hand between his legs and screamed in fury. He ran at V and swung with his other arm, but V had had enough of merely blocking. He stepped into Dave's arm space and his hands were like steel around his waist, lifting the heavy man right off the ground with tremendous strength, and hurling him against the wall. The plaster cracked as Dave connected with it and his head crashed into the brick behind him. He let out a tiny chocked gasp, his hands bunching into hammer like fists as he slid down the wall.

V slowly walked up to him. Evey was standing just a metre away now and saw the look that passed between them; one of utter loathing. Dave shot her a glance that made her uneasy…it was like he knew she was on V's side.

V bent down and placed two hands underneath his armpits, hauling him up back on to his feet. He inclined his head as if to say he should continue his onslaught.

But Dave didn't attack V. Instead he lunged to the right, straight at Evey.

V managed to more or less stop him by delivering a powerful blow to his head as he turned, but although the punch made his head crack loudly against the wall, he remained conscious. His hand snatched Evey to him and he pulled her tightly up to his body, preventing V from attacking him again.

The masked man's hands dropped to his sides. Evey stamped her heel down on the man's foot but he just grunted and snaked his arm across her neck, panting into her ear.

'Your little girlfriend's gonna get battered if you don't leave it!' He bellowed, a switchblade appearing in his hand. V instantly became jumpy, his eyes narrowing beneath the mask. He was going to have to break his promise to Evey.

Dave lowered the switchblade to the soft skin on her neck, jerking her head back. V stepped closer, taking tentative steps. He didn't want to shock him and risk Evey's life. In fact, a part of him was aching for Evey to be in _his_ arms right now, safe and protected. The sight of this man with his hands all over her body made his blood boil.

Without thinking, a hand gently unleashed a knife from its place on his belt. The man holding Evey shifted his feet, so that he was pressed up against her.

'Don't like what you see?' He taunted, his free arm resting across her stomach. He drew it up slightly, knowing she wouldn't dare move with a knife to her neck. His hand now rested just beneath her breasts and V growled very quietly. Evey screwed her eyes shut, mortified that V was seeing this.

'She your girlfriend?' His eyes were glazed over and his lips curled into a crude smile. 'I sure wouldn't mind a bit of this. You one lucky feller.'

At a painfully slow speed, Dave bent his head down to Evey's neck. Glancing at V and smiling, he placed a kiss in the crook of her neck.

That was enough for V. His anger overtook him, and he lost control of what he was doing. He was no longer acting of his own accord. He just wanted to kill this man as excruciatingly as possible.

Evey screamed as V's strong hands closed determinedly around her waist, breaking her out of the man's grip and throwing her to the side. He didn't mean to be so violent, but otherwise her attacker might have been able to hold on.

The red mist was now over his vision too. Seemingly coming to terms with how fast Evey had been snatched from him, Dave was looking at his empty hands in bewilderment when V got to him. Forgetting his original intentions, V took the knife in his right hand, spun it around twice to aim, and then drove it into the man's chest. The metal juddered in his hand as it pierced muscle, cracked bone and sliced through flesh, and then it was buried to the hilt. He stared down at the embedded knife and the reality of what he had done suddenly hit him. This man meant nothing to him, but his promise to Evey did.

Dave clutched his chest, oblivious to the women screaming around him. He slid down the wall, blood splattering his lips as he tried to form a coherent sentence. The colour drained from his vision and the world tilted until he had somehow reached the ground. The mask was hovering above him, and as his fingers scrabbled around the hilt of the knife, a leather glove grasped it instead and pulled it out of him.

He was dead as soon as the blood started to flow.

V stood up and faced Evey, the knife now tarnished with crimson. He ignored the shocked faces of people around them; it was just him and Evey now. She shook her head a little, lip trembling, backing away as he eyes fixated on the dead man crumpled on the ground at her feet.

V reached her in two paces, grabbing her and drawing her into his arms. He let the knife clatter to the ground and concentrated on keeping her in his embrace. She pounded his chest with her hands, and she knew it was futile but she wanted to anyway. He gripped her tighter to him, a hand covering her eyes and turning her away from the sight in front of her.

'I'm so sorry,' he murmured, straight into her ear. 'I would have killed him even if I hadn't lost control. He doesn't deserve to live.'

She gave up her fight and gripped his back tightly with her fingers, grabbing handfuls of his tunic. V carefully drew the cloak around the two of them so that she was cast into a world of darkness, black fabric, and that masculine scent tinged with fury and the sweet smell of sweat.

He lifted his head up, taking in the sight of around fifty people all staring at them. _Well, they have their story now_, he thought grimly, seeing a camera in the hands of one of the onlookers. He would normally confiscate it immediately but he knew it wouldn't be the only one. He also knew that the nature of the relationship between himself and Evey would now be obvious to the world. The fact that he'd killed the man after he'd kissed her and now stood clutching her to him said it all.

He cleared his throat and spoke directly to them.

'Go back to your homes! This is over for now.' They blinked, not moving. V sighed, his arms tightening around Evey. 'You all know what you have seen.'

With that, he stepped backwards once more into the shadow of the alleyway. People rushed forward to catch one more sight of the infamous codename V and Evey Hammond, but they were nowhere to be seen.


	12. Whatever You Say

**Reviews will be rewarded!**

**Thank you to all the people who have said wonderful things so far! You know who you are and I'm very grateful.**

* * *

'Evey, I'm so sorry...let me look at that...'

She pushed his hands away from her, preferring to look at her bruises herself. To his embarrassing surprise, she peeled the skin tight black top off and flung it on to the sofa, revealing the beginnings of a line of purple welts running down her sides. Forcing his eyes to remain on her stomach and not on her chest, V leant forward despite her request for him to keep away. He surveyed the bruises with a sigh.

'I wasn't aware I had held you so hard.'

She looked up from her own inspection, giving him a glance that was hard to read. 'It's OK, if you hadn't I would have come off a lot worse than this.'

Although he was taken aback at her seemingly quick forgiveness, V knew there was more beyond the surface than he was aware of. After all, he had broken a promise to her…something he had vowed never to do. She must be feeling betrayed, even frightened. Seeing a man killed was something a normal person shouldn't have to witness in their lifetime.

Then again, could Evey expect to be a 'normal person' now she was residing with him?

The bruises started just under the edge of her bra and travelled a short way across her stomach. She thought she could even see a couple of finger prints amongst the rapidly rising purple marks. She raised an eyebrow at V who was bent down in front of her while she sat on the sofa, struggling not to find amusement at his obvious discomfort. She questioned herself why she had removed her clothing in front of him in the first place, but she couldn't answer. Maybe she just wanted to revenge his broken promise by making him uncomfortable.

'Looks like this is going to be here for a while,' she groaned. 'I'll look a mess, I'm afraid.'

His eyes met hers. 'You'll always be beautiful, Evey. No number of fights could put you in my position.'

She picked up on her mistake shortly after she'd said it. He was right. She shouldn't fret about her physical appearance when the flaws were hidden beneath clothing in the first place, because no matter how many clothes he took off he would always see scars.

'So will you. However much you don't want to admit it.'

He raised a hand and fondly stroked her cheek. 'Oh, I don't know about that. You have to remember you have no evidence of that kind remark.'

It was true. She'd never seen him.

He shook his head, hands now folded in his lap. 'I don't know how I can ever apologise for this, Evey. I went against everything you asked of me and failed miserably. I didn't have to kill that man, despite how much he deserved it. I just couldn't stand the sight of his hands on your skin, taking advantage, kissing you…it breaks my heart to imagine you with another man.'

She slid off the sofa and bent down next to him, a hand on his knee. He looked at her curiously.

'You never have to worry about me with another man.' A smile graced her lips and she rubbed his knee a little with her thumb, reassuring him. 'There'll only ever be you. After experiencing these kinds of feelings I doubt I could ever go back to something so…normal. Any life without you isn't worth living.'

He breathed in deeply and his hand came to rest under his chin, stroking the mask lightly. 'You don't know how much that means to me,' he murmured.

They sat there for a few seconds in mutual understanding, the shadow gallery quiet around them…until the shrill ringing of a telephone started.

Evey struggled to stand up. 'That'll be dear inspector Finch…'

V rose quickly with no use of his hands and helped Evey up, careful not to touch her bruised skin.

'Thanks,' she said gratefully. She pulled on the black top again, yanking it down over her bruises, and then reached for the phone on the coffee table. In a way she found it amusing that the most secretive place in London was hooked up with a designated number. Luckily no one had rang there with the wrong number yet, because she could just imagine their shock if 'terrorist' V answered.

'Wait,' said V, catching her arm. She looked at him questioningly. 'Are you alright now?' Evey shrugged, hiding a million emotions that threatened to spill over the brim. 'I'm fine. I know you didn't mean to do it…'

'But I did.'

She stared at him for a second and then turned away, loosened his grip on her arm, and answered the phone.

'Finch?'

'What the hell were you thinking?'

She grimaced, handing the phone to V. He raised it to his ear cautiously and spoke smoothly into the mouthpiece.

'Hello, inspector Finch.'

Finch froze on the other line, recognising V's deep voice. He calmed himself, careful not to make a bad impression like last time.

'Hello. V, I assume?'

'Of course.'

For a moment he had to take time out to find irony in this situation. He was talking politely to codename V on the phone, when a year ago he would have gladly ripped the man to shreds had he had the chance.

'I have just received news of a killing around the Camden area. Witnesses claim they saw the real V, and although I had my doubts I went along to the scene regardless.'

He paused but V stayed quiet. Not denying nor owning up to anything.

'The victim had a deep knife wound in his chest and the weapon was left behind at the scene.'

This time, V cut in. 'Oh, yes. I shall be needing that back. I had to rush Evey away from the area.'

Finch almost dropped the phone in shock. 'Yes, they said they also saw Evey Hammond but I didn't believe them…until now. What…_why_?'

'Inspector,' V said, his tone of voice relaxed given the situation. 'Have you seen the news reports of late?'

Finch snorted, 'course I have! I know they wanted you to make an appearance and I've been busy trying to arrange something, but going out specifically with the intention to murder someone? V, I beg your pardon, but I didn't expect…'

'Oh, that wasn't the intention. Evey and I deduced that nothing was happening and so decided to take control of the situation. After all, symbols are extremely powerful in society and we seem to have been made into symbols ourselves. I would have thought you'd have known that, Mr Finch.'

Eric felt quite angry at this point. The terrorist's last words had been noticeably condescending, but he knew that getting V riled up certainly wouldn't help the situation.

'Well…yes…of course…,' he stuttered, contemplating what he should say next. 'The thing is…me and Dominic have prepared an appearance for you and Evey. The demand for your presence has been unrelenting over the past couple of weeks, and the activities of last night merely enhanced the protestations.'

V sounded pleased. 'Well done, I see you have acted faster than we presumed.'

'Yes, well…V, what's that noise?'

He heard a scrabbling on the other line, and then the masked man wasn't there anymore. He moved the phone to rest under his chin and against his shoulder, a puzzled look upon his face.

'Hello?'

'Hello again, it's Evey here.'

Finch grinned as he realised she must have wrestled the phone from V. They were becoming more like a normal couple every day…next time he saw them, they would be play fighting or something else ridiculously out of character.

'I gather you've made arrangements?' She continued, sounding eager. 'I wouldn't mind showing myself without having to kill some creep this time.'

'Yes, you could say I heard about that,' Finch muttered. 'How did it happen?'

'Well…the original plan was to make an appearance by finding someone who was breaking the law in some way and stopping them. I _asked_ him not to use knives, I swear I did, but…um…'

'Evey?' Finch exclaimed. She suddenly sounded quite reserved, and he heard footsteps as if she was walking out of the room. Her next words were very hushed.

'Sorry, I just don't want to talk about this in front of him.'

'I understand. So what happened?'

She sighed. 'We were walking across the rooftops out of sight, when V heard a scream a few streets away. He pulled me over to where it came from and we saw a fat kid being chased down the road by a pretty well built man, the one who ended up killed. So we followed them into a well lit street full of people and made an appearance. He said he needed me there so they knew he wasn't just an impersonator who happened to be handy with knives.'

Finch nodded, finally realising how they'd tracked down this particular man…pot luck. 'So how did he end up dead?' He questioned, without trying to sound like he was interrogating her.

He heard her start to say something, then pause, and then heave a heavy sigh.

'He grabbed me. Threatened to kill me, put a switchblade to my neck.'

Finch was astonished.' Oh, then I completely understand, if your life was in danger…'

'Yes, that's what you'd think,' she shot back. 'But that was only part of the reason. V only killed him when he kissed me. The jerk did it to tease him. I don't think he knew just how much that infuriated V. I don't even think he knew who he _was_…'

'Oh, right…'

He felt suddenly awkward, since neither of them had discussed their relationship as of yet. He wondered just how involved they were, because he wouldn't have thought one kiss was worth a man's life. Then again, V wasn't a normal man.

She gave a short laugh. 'I still don't know what to think of that. I suppose we'll get over it in time…it's just that he doesn't seem to feel like he has to justify himself.'

Finch was aware of this slowly becoming a conversation against V, and frankly he didn't want to be on the wrong side of the man. 'I know, Miss Hammond…'

'Please, call me Evey.'

'OK. Well Evey, I don't want to anger him. Maybe you should keep this to yourself, or at least between you two.'

She was silent for a second, and then spoke very quietly and cautiously. 'He's a dangerous man, isn't he?'

Finch rubbed his temple with a hand. 'Yes, he is. I won't deny that to you. But…well, it was clear to me at the meeting we had that he can still care. For God's sake, he frightened Dominic more than I ever have!'

She chuckled. 'Thank you. I'm sure you're right…I'm just going to have to get used to living with a knife wielding vigilante underground.'

He smiled at her ability to find humour in this situation. 'Very true.'

'So, what's this appearance you mentioned?'

He detected her request to change the subject and carried on as if nothing serious had been thrown into the conversation. 'Dascombe, head of the BTN as you know, has agreed to let you and V come on to the air.'

'Oh, I see.'

'Yes, it will be something like an interview, but basically you will both have the chance to speak directly to the country. I think it's an excellent opportunity.'

'Yes, I agree, just let me…'

'…ask him?' Finch finished for her, and he heard a laugh.

'Yeah. I'll get him for you.'

Finch waited, feeling slightly apprehensive. It seemed like the man always managed to instil fear in everyone around him. An ability that proved strong enough to create anarchy in the UK, it seemed.

'Inspector?'

That voice again.

'Yes. I was just talking to Evey about the arrangements I have made, if you're willing of course.'

'Anything, within reason,' he said smoothly.

'Dascombe has agreed to make a television appearance that will air on all channels, and this can be whenever you like. There's nothing worth putting on television as it is and we'd be very glad to have you.'

V didn't reply immediately, leaving the inspector hanging on nervously.

'Yes,' he replied eventually.

As Evey watched V talk to Finch over the phone, she wondered if he would be offended at her walking away from him. They seemed to be going over times and places, and although the discussion was short it certainly seemed meticulous.

V hung up, setting the phone down on the coffee table beside him.

'Well, it seems like we shall have to explain the incident in Camden live on air,' he sighed, his body language speaking volumes. He legs were slightly apart, his arms crossed, the mask tilted.

'Evey…'

She looked up from her position on the sofa. 'Hm?'

'What were you talking about when you walked away?'

She scratched her head, not sure what to say. 'I was just telling him exactly what happened in the alleyway, nothing else.'

'Nothing?'

He came to sit beside her, looking sideways through the eye slits in the mask. She sat there wringing her fingers, avoiding his gaze.

'I'm telling the truth, V. I only walked away because…well, I told him you stabbed the man when he kissed me. That's all.'

He sat up a little straighter.

'You told inspector Finch the nature of our relationship?'

She looked shocked. 'No! V, no, that wasn't what I said at all. He still doesn't have a clue what's going on between us…'

'I beg to differ,' he replied shortly. 'And soon the whole nation will, if he does.'

'I think they know anyway,' Evey retaliated. 'I would, if I was an onlooker and I'd seen you hold me like that. Here, have you seen this?'

She reached over to the side, grabbing the day's newspaper from the table. On the front cover, a headline screamed 'CODENAME V AND EVERY HAMMOND - THE SECRET RELATIONSHIP REVEALED', above a huge image of V reaching out to her and beginning to pull her to him. He could tell from the position and angle of the shot that it had been taken by the person holding the camera.

He chuckled. 'I see this must be a tabloid, as I highly doubt a broadsheet would focus on our relationship. I hope at least some of the newspapers were respectable enough to concentrate on either the man's death, God forbid, or the fact that we're still alive.'

She smiled, grateful for his lack of anger. 'The other newspapers are in the kitchen. I just thought this one was the funniest.'

He leaned forward, clasping the mask in his hands. In frustration or amusement? She couldn't tell.

'I think I need to speak to you about something, Evey.'

She looked at him, detecting his tone of voice. 'What is it?' She said warily, not really wanting to ask.

'I heard you in the room,' said V quietly. 'Asking if I was a dangerous man.'

She stayed very still, knowing she had been well and truly caught. 'You're…mad?'

'No,' he said, a shaky breath escaping through the lips of the mask. 'I'm confused, mad…frightened, I suppose.'

Evey's head snapped around to face him directly, utter disbelief etched across her features.

'_You're_ frightened?

'Yes,' he said, so softly she could have pretended she hadn't heard it, if she'd wanted to.

'Of what?'

She shuffled off the sofa, kneeling at his feet and taking his leather clad hands in hers. Her hand was tiny compared to his and he folded it into his grasp, holding on to her like she was trying to pull away.

'I don't want you to be scared of me, Evey. I cannot think of a worse situation…keeping you down here with me when you fear me. I didn't know you felt that way…I'm frightened of you going, in all honesty.'

He hung his head, but Evey reached under his chin and brought his face near to hers. 'I'm not scared of you at all,' she said, trying to force as much persuasion into her voice as possible.

'Evey, I completely understand if you are. After all, you saw me murder a man when I had promised not to…'

'That was to protect me!' She exclaimed, feeling desperation creeping into her mind. She couldn't lose him, not now. 'V, I'm never going to desert you because of something as trivial as that. Yes, it may be a big deal to a normal person but I know that our lifestyle isn't normal. Nothing about our relationship is normal, in fact. And I've seen a lot worse than what you did to that man.'

He squeezed her hand in agreement. 'Yes, I know of no one else who hides his face from his beloved and stabs men who lust after her.'

She grinned, deciding to act on his sarcasm despite it being said in a negative context.

'That's right. I like a man to be protective, to say the least.'

He stood up at this, let go of her hand, stepped around her and walked over to a bust of Karl Marx. He ran a finger over the smooth surface of the stone, thinking. Even though he had his back to Evey, she read his posture. In fact, she had become somewhat of an expert at body language after having to read his every move for a year.

'So, you're not going to..?'

The timidity in his tone of voice was unnerving, and she stood up herself.

'V,' she said helplessly, moving a little closer. He turned around to face her, one hand still on the small statue. 'What's brought this on? We were _fine_ before.'

'I shouldn't even be here. I've dragged you into a dysfunctional relationship where I can't separate myself from the idea I believe I am, although you've been observant enough to make me realise that the idea was burnt along with parliament. I know that I shouldn't inflict this damaging lifestyle on you because you deserve so much more, but…' His hands fell to his sides, when a few seconds ago he had been gesticulating. 'I can't let you go. I know that it would be the end of my life as I know it, and yet I have refused the opportunity to die respectably. I feel like a coward, Evey. If you left I would be a shell, and yet if you stay, as you are now, I will be constantly wracked with guilt at drawing you into this. I just need to know if you are frightened of me, and if you can live with a man who is made from porcelain.'

A deafening silence settled over them, before Evey managed to break it with a trembling voice.

'Whatever you say, V, I know you're not made of porcelain, I know that's not your real face, I know that I will _never_ be scared of you. And I sure as hell know that everything you said in the last minute was a complete lie.'

She speared him with her gaze. 'You said only truth, Evey. Only truth. Well you can lie all you want but I plan on telling the truth, and this is it...'

She took a few tentative steps towards him, and cupped the mask with her hands. 'I want you, I want to see you, and I want you to realise that I'm sick of seeing that smile staring back at me when your face is falling behind it. I can't see you like this, V. Not anymore. You need to stop hiding.'

He was frozen to the spot. A rabbit caught in the headlights. His breathing was laboured behind the mask and he was filled with the overwhelming desire to take in fresh air without the mask's confines. But no, he couldn't allow himself that pleasure.

'You…want me?'

His words were whispered, like he was afraid to speak them. Scared of the rejection that would surely come. Evey gripped the sides of the mask and drew his head down to her level, leaning her forehead against his. Her breath fogged the surface a little.

'More than you could ever know.'

He wanted to take her in his arms right there and then, to feel the press of her lips against his, to show her how much happiness she'd given him in the last few months. But he couldn't feel her like this, not properly. It was too bright and she was too beautiful…then again, would that ever change?

'Nobody has ever wanted me before,' he murmured, his voice a gentle hum like a recited sonnet. 'I'm at a loss for words, dear Eve. I never thought somebody could take my words away.'

He ran a leather clad finger down her cheek. 'You've taken many things. My heart, my words. I fear there is no larger gift I can offer you.'

'There is,' she breathed, inching a finger into the slight ridge between his mask and the dark wig. He stiffened as the tip of her finger hovered there, not touching him yet but close. So close.

'That is not a gift,' said V. His words were rushed and they spilled out of his mouth in a snarl. 'It is a curse. My face…my face is not who I am.'

She completed the small journey her fingers had started, and they brushed against the skin beneath the mask. Uneven, mottled...but pleasantly smooth. His breath caught in his throat and a hand shot up to grip her arm, squeezing it like he would never let go. Never before had somebody come this close to touching his face. Evey leaned closer.

"No more than the muscles beneath it, or the bones beneath them," she whispered, clutching the hand that was gripping her arm so painfully. She eased his fingers off slowly, one by one. In the past, she'd been unable to be sure of any expressions that adorned his face, but in this moment she felt like she could have seen through a foot of steel if she'd had to. For the first time, she knew he looked confused…an emotion, perhaps, that V wasn't used to accommodating.

He closed his eyes behind black slits, a wisp of air escaping from his parted lips. She was making this so difficult, so irresistible…and yet if she saw him she would surely cower. V had never been in such a bewildering situation. This beautiful young woman wanted him? Impossible. No, she must mean something else, something trivial…because this beauty could never love this beast. Not in that way.

'Evey, please,' he begged, a not of urgency creeping into his voice. Her fingers were curling around the edge of the mask, the porcelain ridge digging into the soft skin of her hand for the straps were preventing her from pulling it away. She pulled gently, only to find further resistance. She bit her lip in frustration, aware that if she reached underneath his wig she would elicit a wholly different reaction.

The hand she was now holding with her own turned in her grasp, encircling her wrist. The leather was smooth against her skin and she felt an unpredictable shiver tickling the base of her spine. Fingers intertwined, and then he was twisting her hand ever so slightly, ever so gently, until she was forced to turn. To her dismay, her hand slipped from the edge of V's mask.

She was building up her defences in preparation for rejection, but none came. Instead his arms were now coiling slowly around her waist, across the rise of her hips. He was stepping behind her, turning her in his embrace like a dancer on ice, except ice surely would have melted beneath her look by now. His hands were around her abdomen, moving across her stomach, delighting in the rise and fall of her ribs as she breathed.

And then his feet were moving, and she was walking forward with no direction, and then she was against the wall with him behind, her cheek pressing against the cold surface. She groaned a little and arched her body as his hands began a torturously unhurried journey up her back. Electricity shot up her spine and created sparks in her vision. The leather crunched a little as he finally moved his hands over her shoulder blades, leaning forward to press the hard edge of the mask into the curve of her neck. After that one action, the whole nature of their embrace seemed to change. This was no longer two people simply holding each other, it was something entirely different. Something completely new and undiscovered.

Evey gasped and he pressed the solid line of his body into her back. She tried to turn around, to feel him against her, to wrestle with his control the way he was so mercilessly testing hers, but he caught her hands and pinned them to the wall, fingers splayed.

'V,' she choked. One syllable was enough to show her desire, and the sound of her voice almost embarrassed her at its indecency.

"She speaks," he chuckled against her ear, and the pitch of his voice travelled through her very skin. "O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven."

The porcelain lips pressed firmly into her skin. She scrunched her hands into fists, trying to break free of his grip but he only held her harder.

Her own lips curled into a smile against the wall. 'I stole your words…now you've stolen mine.'

'Indeed, it seems that way,' he purred, "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."

This time he didn't hold her and she twisted around in his grasp, turning to face him. He placed two hands around her waist and pushed her against the wall, their bodies crushing together like soft folds of velvet. Her bruises were long forgotten, and the only pain she felt was delicious. Evey tilted her head back and gritted her teeth at the sensation, battling a groan that threatened to rise up in her throat. His body was incredibly streamlined, and even as he held her to that wall she felt the muscles moving beneath his silk clothing. He took advantage of his new position and dipped the mask to her neck. Her scent drove him wild…he wished he could taste her.

Through the mist descending on his vision, V was distinctly aware of Evey's fingers inching toward the fastenings of the mask. He drew back, panting. 'You ask too much.'

'I ask too little,' she snapped back. They were suddenly staring at each other, struggling for control. He pressed her to the cold stone once more, desperate to distract her, but his motives backfired when she ground her hips against him. He stiffened immediately, having finally had the words well and truly snatched from his lips. He hissed in a breath at the friction. Right now, his body was speaking for him and Evey could feel this obvious hardness against her stomach more than she'd ever related to anything he'd said.

'To hell with being just an idea,' she said, and she was almost laughing, 'you're definitely a man.'

He cocked his head to one side, porcelain nose nudging against hers. 'Oh really?'

She shifted her hips, placing her thigh between his legs. His hands tightened on her waist and he cried out ever so softly, the most repressed noise she had ever heard.

'Really.'

He took a step back and the distance between them gaped. What was in reality a few centimetres felt like miles, and Evey clung to him. V wasn't going anywhere this time.

'You said you would never tear yourself away from me again. Is that another promise you're willing to break?'

She grabbed the front of his tunic and roughly pulled him against her, their faces locking as securely as mask and skin could.

'You're human, and it's time you realised that.'

It was a forceful demand. She was challenging the most dangerous man in England to stand up to her. Could he really be so intimidated by this small woman with fiery eyes, when he had slaughtered countless in the past?

_Yes_, he realised with a jolt. He could.

He reached up, gripped her jaw firmly with a hand, tilted her face toward Guy Fawkes' lips…her eyes were closed and he admired her beauty; the soft dark shade of her eyelid, her blushing lips, the jagged shadows cast across her face from the dim light and sharpness of her cheekbones, the faint shine of perspiration forming at her temples…but it wasn't enough. He sighed, mouth straining against the mask but still not making the contact he craved.

V slammed a hand against the light switch beside Evey's head, and they were plunged into a welcoming blackness.

* * *

**All quotes in this chapter are from 'Romeo and Juliet' by Shakespeare.**


	13. Breathe

**Wow, I had about three times more reviews than I usually do, for the last chapter! Wonder why that is...**

**Yes, I deserve to be punished for leaving such a cruel cliffhanger. All the same, please R & R and many thanks to the lovely people who have already done so ; )**

* * *

Evey reached out blindly with searching hands, expecting to find a face of flesh in front of her. But her fingers bumped against the ridged mask instead, tracing the contours of the patronising smile. 

The darkness around them was complete. A smothering black blanket had folded itself over their figures, and the silence of the shadow gallery helped enshroud them. The only sense she was aware of was touch, and the sound of two peoples' ragged breathing in this artificial night.

'V?'

'Ssh. Be quiet, my love.'

Her hands travelled down the high collar, past his broad shoulders, rested over his pulsing heart, smoothed themselves over the wide expanse of his chest; flitting over every muscle and every quick breath she felt him take. She wanted to feel every inch of him.

He reached up and took her hands in his own. She gently pulled them away again which made him draw back momentarily, but then he relaxed as soon as he realised what her intention was. Evey eased the leather gloves off, pulling at each individual soft finger until his hands were bare…only this time she couldn't see the matrix of criss-crossed white scars, luxuriating in the feel of the slight roughness of his palms and the uneven texture of his skin instead. She let the gloves drop, and they hit the cold stone floor with a slap.

She felt, or rather _heard _V's head look up from where he'd been peering sightlessly down at the removal of his first barrier. The wig swished in the dark, and Guy Fawkes leaned down for a stolen kiss.

She wrapped her arms around his neck like she had that first time they'd had contact, but this felt so different. He was touching parts of her that couldn't be reached physically, entering her mind and consuming all of her rational senses until she was left with nothing but raw longing.

However, she stopped short of the painted smile and sensed him tilting his head to the side in confusion.

'Not like this,' she whispered.

A warm finger pressed itself to her lips and she inhaled a trembling breath. This was V, he was real and he was made of flesh and blood after all…the feel of his hand on her lips told her that, as she presented it with a soft kiss.

He sighed, took a step back. Evey didn't protest this time though. She knew he'd switched that light off for a reason.

And he stood there quietly, trying to see her in the dark, his altered vision somewhat adjusting ever so slightly. But she was still invisible to him…a stunning silhouette standing there. Waiting, breathing, wanting.

Two scarred hands reached up to the wig and slipped beneath the soft hair.

Evey had been readying herself for this moment for as long as she could remember, but when the harsh 'click' of the mask's fastenings resounded around them, the words she'd wanted to say stuck in her throat and all she could do was stare into the abyss before her, hoping it would stare back.

And then he moved a little to her right, and there was a soft 'clunk'. He had set something down on the jukebox, and with that one sound all her senses were set off. Screaming at her. But it was all the same words, over and over again.

_He's right there in front of you. _

He walked back to her and she instantly reached up, but he'd sensed she would in advance and caught her hands. He held them tantalisingly close to his face, so that he was breathing gently on to her skin. This time, there was no mask to muffle his voice or disguise his emotions. He was tearing himself open right in front of her. The temptation to touch him was overwhelming, and Evey found herself shaking with anticipation.

'Why are you doing this? Why now? She heard herself say, her voice sounding different somehow. Strangled, in a way. Like she had to force the words past her own lips.

'Because I want you too,' he breathed.

And with that, she felt his hands let go but she didn't reach up, because his hands were running up her sides, stroking the nape of her neck, cupping her face…and when it finally came, she didn't expect it.

He was suddenly close, close enough to make her head grow faint. She felt his head dip to hover in front of hers, torturing her. She couldn't move toward him because his hands kept her still, but she could sense him inching closer. Uncertain, like a lover's first kiss.

'V,' she whispered into the darkness, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders but restraining herself from touching his face just yet, because she wanted the first contact to be that which he was taunting her with, their lips barely inches apart. Invisible heat was growing between them, like a spark of electricity crackling between metal.

'I love you. So much.' He said it in a rumbling undertone. It was simple, but it was right. And he gave her no chance to answer.

She felt strong fingers tip her chin up a little, his other hand gently caressing her jaw. Breath against her mouth. Evey inhaled sharply as warm lips pressed against hers, capturing her bottom lip between his. A wave of heat crashed over her head and she felt like she melted right there in V's arms, drowning in him in the pitch black.

V himself now realised why people sometimes believed they'd experienced spiritual enlightenment, because one kiss had thrown him into an unexpected state of ecstasy. He found his body acting of its own accord and didn't try to stop his hands searching through the dark…far from it. He pushed lightly against her. Evey's lips parted an infinitesimal amount in a gasp, and the feel of her making that sound against his lips made him light headed.

V, the man who had been shot by ten fingermen and survived – almost brought to his knees by a kiss in the dark?

He felt something moist against his mouth. His heart hammered against his ribcage. He moved his lips ever so slightly and Evey slipped her tongue through the tiny gap, tenderly eliciting the same reaction he'd so ruthlessly drawn out of her. His fingers drifted across her flat stomach and then circled her waist, gripping her hips to bring her up against him. She drew back for a second, struggling to find words that would express what she was feeling.

'V…you're beautiful…'

And with that, her hands started the journey he'd known would come. At first she seemed reluctant to touch his face because she didn't want to spoil what they had gained. In other ways, she wanted to satisfy her curiosity as quickly as possible since every aching part of her was insisting against her pulling away.

Her right hand hesitantly touched his cheek, feeling the skin. He closed his eyes. Knowing that if he didn't he would imagine her facial expression himself…and that would be fatal.

Her fingers warmed to the patchy texture and she pressed her hand fully against one side of his face. There was no stubble to speak of, since that skin had been burnt away like the rest of his body. There was nothing unpleasant at all about the surface of his face. In fact, it felt quite sensually smooth beneath the pads of her fingers.

They stood there locked in each other's tight embrace, breathing heavily…exploring one another. Evey's hands moved slowly over his brow, feeling no eyebrows but forming a vague facial shape in her mind, in the same way an artist would contemplate a masterpiece planned inside their head. From what she could tell, his bone structure was more or less intact save for the slightly deformed ridge of his nose. Instead of peaking upwards as she would expect, it sloped down like how she imagined melted candle wax would. She stood on the balls of her feet and lowered her lips slowly, to place a tender kiss between his eyes. She felt them flutter open and smiled at his invisible face. She'd run out of words, but it didn't matter. They didn't need them.

V stroked her face with the back of his hand and then let it drift down her body. They looked sightlessly at each other, eyes burning, both realising there were still borders to be crossed. Evey took his hand from its position on her hip, and to his shock started to pull at the hem of her top.

'Evey, are you sure..' he murmured, although it came out as a growl. A lot huskier than it usually was.

In reply, she struggled free of the last confines of the black top and flung it to the side. He instantly forgot any inhibitions as her scent filled his nostrils, and once again she felt herself being enveloped by a world of silk cloth, dark musk and lust that was V.

She groaned as red hot lips trailed down her collarbone, subconsciously raising a leg high to hook around his waist. He hummed against her flushed skin briefly, basking in the sensation of her slim leg pulling him closer into that heat. His very thoughts were on fire in this blaze, catching alight at the strike of a match. He sensed that very soon he would be burning in an inferno powerful enough to rival that of Larkhill, but this time scars didn't matter. At all.

'V…' her voice was laced with untainted yearning, but she didn't care. She wanted him to hear it. 'Took my advice…'

His lips rested on the sharp line of her jaw, and he raised his head to face her. 'What advice?' He panted, a hand snaking down to the leg that was still keeping her standing firmly on the floor. He already had an impression of what she was about to say, and his real lips curled into a smile against hers. He still couldn't quite believe how blissful this forbidden contact felt.

'…not to be a gentleman.'

He grinned, wide enough to rival even Guy Fawkes' smile. His suspicions had been correct.

He shifted to the side a little, letting his free hand hold her other thigh in a possessive grip. She breathed in expectantly as he slowly eased her up a small amount, grasping her legs. Lips locked in a passionate kiss. He pinned her securely to the wall, both her legs clinging around his waist, hands moving steadily across the underside of heated thighs until he found a particularly gratifying spot through the soft cotton of her trousers. He ran a hand down her inner thigh and felt the shift in her weight as she titled backward, emitting a sound that was more beautiful than Beethoven's orchestra to his ears.

'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...'(1) he purred, fingers dancing around the waistband of her trousers. She closed her eyes, feeling a scalding heat run through her most guarded areas at his every touch.

'I love thee to the depth and breadth and height,' she said, a hurried whisper which ended in a faint 'O' as rough hands swept along her thighs. '…My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight…' She drew in a breath, the words trailing from her lips like smoke.

'Hmm, cannot finish the verse, my dear?' He teased, and she squeezed his waist with her legs in response. This power he held over her…it wasn't fair.

She leaned forward, swiping the wig off his head with one hand and using the other to hold his face still as she murmured in his ear, 'I think it's my turn.' He stiffened, his defences quickly raised and then lowered once more as his last barrier disappeared. His head had the same texture as his face, although in some patches there was short stubble where she assumed hair must have grown. But Evey couldn't care less…he was here and he wanted her. That was enough. That was all she would ever need.

She pushed herself away form the wall with shaking hands, so that he released his grip on her and she slid down the silk of his body. They stood facing each other for a second, marvelling at how the heat seemed to blister between them even when they were a few centimetres apart. It seemed like a non existent God was willing them to give into the animal instincts humans had been so generously gifted with, but few truly discovered.

She took his scarred hand and pulled him in a random direction, hot hands scraping over cold stone wall until she found the corridor leading to her bedroom. An exchanged invisible smile in the dark, and then she was leading him down the unknowing passage. Leather gloves, mask, wig and black top left crumpled in a deserted corner of the gallery.

* * *

She scrabbled with the door handle, desperate not to delay and potentially ruin everything. But despite her fears, she knew deep down that he wasn't going anywhere. His hands slid down her bare back as she forced the door open with a squeak of the hinges, breath tickling the back of her neck. 

_Yes, he's _definitely_ still interested, _she thought, as she brushed past his hips and had to cling to the door frame for a second before being able to turn to him.

She faced him in the doorway, looking up into a face she couldn't see. Sure hands reached around her to pull her to a muscular chest, and she closed her eyes against his tunic, wanting nothing more than to feel his warm skin beneath hers. She rested her cheek there for a second while a hand hesitantly made its way across his broad back, smoothing over the muscles and halting occasionally as it dawned on her just how strong he was. This man had no fat on him at all…everything her hand touched was hard and furrowed, like a carving in stone. Except this chiselled stone was hot and alive underneath her hand.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Evey felt the nerves in the back of her neck and the base of her spine tingle once more. That delicious heat was spreading through her limbs again, threatening to overtake. The physical aspect of V was more appealing to her than any other part of him in that moment, and although she questioned this for a moment, she realised it didn't matter. There was a difference between love and lust, and she wasn't about to deny herself the latter just because it was new to her. She still loved him, but to feel is to love, in a way…and she could think of nothing else as a glaze descended over her sightless eyes.

She stepped back and he detected a change in her approach instantly. A small hand folded into his and he felt himself being pulled…no, _dragged_, to her bed. She turned to him, arms already wrapping around his chest to get as close to that pressure as she possibly could, breathing fast as she pressed her small frame against him.

He choked, the darkness in front of him swimming a little as her hips ground against his with no inhibitions. This Evey he didn't know, but certainly approved of. She was turning into the inferno he'd imagined by every second.

She felt herself being lifted effortlessly, and was on her back before she'd had a chance to grab on to anything. She reached out blindly and her hands touched him instantly, fingers brushing against that chest she so admired. He seemed to hover above her, thighs on either side of her body. Preparing himself. She lay on the already tangled sheets, trying to catch her breath. But she didn't have much chance, for when he bent down he took her breath away once more. Hot lips met, and meshed together slowly with a tenderness she had never experienced before. Something similar to a sob crept past her lips as this scarred man kissed her in the pitch black. He deepened the kiss as her lips parted, the heat between them growing further from this one point of contact.

Her hands skimmed over the front of his shirt, trying to find a row of buttons or zip. He pulled back momentarily, lips poised over hers. And then he was making hurried jerking movements above her, pulling the silk garment over his head.

He was instantly reminded of every time he had to undress himself at night, repulsed at his own body. But this was different…it was like being naked was something necessary, something that had to be done in order to love her. And he would give her every kind of love he could, for she was his Evey. Whatever she wanted, she could have.

Evey groaned lightly as he lowered his lips back to hers, for this time he was shirtless. Lips captured hers in a wet kiss and she responded fervently, losing herself in her own passion. Her hands pressed firmly down his back, over his barrelled chest, gliding over the smooth skin of his stomach…until she could control the direction of her exploration no more. The muscles in his back flexed and his body arched as she seized his waist and pulled him down gently between her thighs. He hissed against her lips, feeling her heat even through two layers of cotton.

'Evey…' he growled, losing himself in the sensation before he'd been able to finish. She moved her hips the tiniest amount, causing him to gasp and grip on to her shoulders almost painfully.

His lips traced a scalding path over her jaw and then trailed down her neck. He lingered there for an instant, every ounce of his being shuddering in anticipation of what he was about taste. Her hands reached beneath her back and unclipped the clasp of her bra, and he pulled it out from under her with an impatient haste. He stared down at the body he couldn't see, and she bared herself to him anxiously.

And then she felt those lips on her once more, but a lot lower than they'd previously been. They both cried out softly as he kissed the pathway between her breasts, tasting her sweat and heat in its purest form. His hand circled the soft mound, amazed at how delicate she could feel beneath his fingers. His fingers brushed the area curiously and then closed over one small breast, feeling the extent of her arousal. She grinned as she felt hot lips gasp against her collarbone, and he thrust against her instinctively.

This time it was her turn to gasp, as she felt his stiffness grind against her pelvis. Uncontrollable tendrils of passion clawed through her body. It was heaven, this friction…that one movement cast her into ecstasy and crated sparks in her most guarded regions.

He ran his lips across her bruises and murmured sweet nothings, apologies for hurting her, tongue soothing away her pain. But there was no pain, just a sharp tingle running through her skin as she held his head against her stomach and sighed into the night. She breathed his name and he pulled himself up across her body, his chest brushing against hers, mouths connecting before the 'V' had even managed to fully creep past her lips. He pushed once more, experimentally, and her body arched off the bed against him with a quiet groan.

Something caught in his throat. He had never imagined he could please her so effortlessly…the effect she was having on him was something he'd expected given her physical beauty, but to have his name panted in reply? That was more than he'd ever hoped for.

"Most fantastic are the magic circles drawn round the thing called life…'(2) he mused aloud, aware that his rational thoughts were soon going to desert him entirely. He was to say goodbye to his mind before the darkness of lust fully engulfed him. '…til we have learned to prize it less, we ne'er shall learn to prize…' he pressed Evey into the tangled sheets completely, all the breath escaping from her as the sweat on their bodies mingled and limbs slid against one another.

'…the things worth living for.'

She felt a hand run over her shaven head, his body press against her breasts, desperate lips taking hers once more. She responded with tears in her eyes, fingernails digging into his hips as she drove herself against his hardness, crying out every time they were crushed together against that insatiable wave of heat. The tide was drawing in.

She was no longer aware of what her hands were doing, or where he was caressing, or what he was reciting over and over again against her lips. All she could feel were two pairs of hands tearing at the confines of their clothes, her hand running over his biceps as he pulled at her flimsy trousers, nudging them down her legs with one arm while the other held her face to his. She did the same, wrestling with the fastenings she'd found on his waistband and letting him kick them off. He straightened up for a second and she heard a thud on the floor as leather boots slid from his feet, and then he was back between her legs before she'd fully realised he'd gone.

But this time it was different. She could feel everything, everything she'd ever dreamed of. Before he'd had the chance to pull her against him, she sat up and pressed her lips against his chest, his thighs placed on either side of her legs. He breathed in sharply as she did this, head tilted back a little in delight. She kissed a path over the firm muscles of his chest to his stomach, smiling against his rock hard flesh. Before she'd been able to stop herself, her hands inched down to the band of silken briefs and slid over the rigidness inside, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from V…or was it her? She couldn't tell.

Hands pinned her down to the mattress, legs tangling as he draped himself across her, holding her to him like she would fall away if he let go. She could feel their bodies growing hotter and slick with sweat, and she hooked her legs up over his backside to bring her up against him harder than she ever had before. This time he let out a shocked sound and clutched the sheets next to her head.

'Please,' she heard herself pleading, 'I need you.'

He paused, chest heaving against hers. He didn't reply with words. She felt gentle hands caressing her face and then closed her eyes as he kissed her softly, letting his tongue sensually glide over hers. Evey hummed gently against his lips, as a blinding whiteness started to creep in at the back of her vision.

She was so distracted by the intensity he kissed her with that she hardly seemed to register his hands working around her hips, easily snapping through the lace panties she wore. Even less so, when his silk briefs were disposed of.

He broke away for a second, hovering above her. She lay there looking up into the blackness, into the space where she knew his face must be. She could feel him pulsing against her and her eyelids fluttered closed, the heat burning through her with more ferocity than it had before. She felt herself being gathered into strong arms, felt his biceps flex as he steadied himself against her body. Scalding flames started at her thighs and started to scorch somewhere along the pit of her stomach. Like a match to torchwood.

And then his breath was catching, and her lips were parting in a silent groan. She tilted her hips and pushed against him with all her strength, a whimper rising up her throat as she felt him fill her, pushing all her sanity into the corners of her mind until she was left with nothing but unadulterated lust. He gritted his teeth and then pulled back, liquid desire slipping under his skin and through every pore of his body. He could drown in her, if she wanted him to. But instead she was burning him, flames devouring his mind and his body.

She locked her legs around his waist and he cried out softly, thrusting back into her with strength he didn't know he possessed. He heard her do the same. Fingernails scraped his back, lips seized his and she tensed around him, already poised on the brink of ecstasy.

She sensed every muscle in his body flexing, intent on reaching that one spark of bright white light that was dancing closer in her sightless eyes. She ran her hands up his back as he moved inside her, against her, within her. It didn't matter anymore what he was doing. Her face was wet against his as he pinned her to the sheets with his lips alone, and she realised with a jolt that the salty tears she could taste were not only hers. She kissed his face, his closed eyes, choking down the emotion that threatened to overcome her.

But this wasn't an emotion. It was a crescendo bearing down on her with rapidly gathering speed. Her lips parted against his as he pushed into her, inching open in a silent cry. He ran hungry lips across her neck instead of her lips as he felt her stiffen beneath him, trying to fight off the wave of passion that was bearing down on him too. Hands clung on to his shoulders with a ferocious strength, trembling a little as the white light engulfed her and the waves broke over her body. He bit the soft skin near her ear and she cried his name with breathless energy. The sensation of her tightening around him squeezed a groan through his own lips and he drew back, before driving himself into her one last time. He shuddered as the full experience of ecstasy scored through his veins, driving him wild, relinquishing any judicious thoughts he may have had. It lasted for all of a few seconds but he lay suspended in that thrill for what seemed like a lifetime, while somewhere a world away lips captured his and whispered silent words into the sweltering heat that was overriding his senses.

She sensed him relax eventually, wrapping his arms around her neck. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the feeling. He nuzzled his head into the side of Evey's neck and let her scent wash over him in the receding flood, lying tangled in the black sheets of night.

Breathing her in, tasting her, loving her.

* * *

**(1) 'How Do I Love Thee?' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.**

**(2) 'Argument for Suicide' by W. Wordsworth.**


End file.
